by Lauren Royal
She only glared at him, her jaw set.
“And what, pray tell, is so bad about being a duchess? Every other girl in England would be thrilled beyond words to find herself wed to a duke.”
“I’m not like other girls, and I am never beyond words.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Trick returned dryly. He crossed his long legs at the ankles. “I really don’t understand this, Kendra. How can marrying a duke be such a disastrous occurrence?”
“It’s too hard to explain.”
“Try.” He crossed his arms. “I’m listening.”
With a huff of impatience, she sat on the red velvet bed. She parked her hands behind her and looked up, trying to think. Above her loomed the underside of a gathered silk canopy fit for a king.
Or a duke, ranked above everyone but royalty.
“Your grace, it isn’t the title itself that sets my teeth on edge, but what it symbolizes. To me. To the world in general. All the good people who weren’t lucky enough to…”
This wasn’t working. Feeling beyond words after all, she sat straight. But the expectant look in Trick’s eyes only frustrated her further.
“Just look at this!” She leapt up and gestured wildly at the room: the padded, satin-lined walls, the carved and gilded ceiling, the four-poster bed crowned with garish poufs of red-dyed ostrich feathers. “See what I mean? Who wants to live in a place like this? I swear, it puts Whitehall to shame!”
He gave a short bark of a laugh at what she knew must be a look of utter disgust on her face. “I know women who would kill for—”
“Kill for this? That’s the first thing you’ve said all day that makes any sense.”
“I don’t care for this decor, either,” he said calmly. “But why do you hate it so much? I want to understand.”
“Oh, I knew this would be impossible to explain! It’s long, and it’s convoluted, and it doesn’t seem to make sense to anyone but me. It’s certainly never made sense to any of my brothers.”
“I’m not your brothers. Tell me, however long it takes.”
With a sigh, she sat back down and thought for a long minute, then clasped her hands in her lap before beginning.
“I won’t pretend I don’t enjoy balls and pretty clothes and the other things money can buy as much as the next girl. But I think I know what’s important beneath all the trappings. I told my brothers again and again that I don’t care about titles. I wanted to marry a man I was wildly in love with, but even more, a man I could admire. For who he was inside, not a false honor that society had settled upon him.”
“I didn’t ask to be a duke—” Trick began.
Waving him off, she jumped up again, not at all ready to listen yet. “During the Commonwealth,” she said as she resumed pacing, “my family’s title was a liability, not an asset. We hadn’t the choice to stay home and go about our business like normal people. Instead we were exiled paupers, dragged from Paris, to Cologne, to Brussels, Bruges, Antwerp—wherever King Charles and his court wandered. It was then I learned it’s what’s inside a person that counts. Some people were kind to us, and some were not. And their rank had nothing to do with it.” Her voice dropping, she stopped and turned to him. “And…”
“And what?” he asked softly.
She knew this would sound ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it—it was how she felt. “As a little girl, I decided the dukes were the worst. The most pompous, the least caring, the most annoyed with orphaned children underfoot. Because of that, to me, they represent the worst of humanity. The worst of everything.”
He swept the hair from his face, his expression clearing. “That’s why your brothers asked me to marry you under my given name only,” he murmured. “Because you would have refused.”
“Probably,” she conceded. “And now I’m stuck in this gaudy museum.”
He looked heavenward—or rather, gilded-ceilingward. “Come now, it’s not that bad.”
“I would rather live in the cottage.”
“Come to think of it, so would I.” Evidently it was his turn to pace now, because he rose and did so before the carved stone mantel. “My father built this deuced palace, not I,” he said contemplatively. “Let’s move to the cottage. I’ll alert Cavanaugh to pack my things, and Jane needn’t even unpack yours. We’ll make haste for the cottage immediately.”
She swallowed hard. “Are you sure?”
He turned to her and raised a brow. “Are you sure?”
A long silence stretched between them before Kendra sighed. “No,” she said, unsure of anything at the moment. “I don’t want to live in that little cottage. Well, actually, it’s a big cottage, but you know what I mean.”
She dropped to sit on the bed. “I’m accustomed to directing a large household, and I’ll do you proud. It’s only…when I think of all the money it takes to run a place like this—all the servants and goods—for just the two of us…can’t we close up some of it? Close up most of it? Most of Cainewood is closed up. We could take the money and put it to good use, helping orphans or the like.”
Trick sat beside her, smelling of sandalwood soap. He must have come here and bathed, the wretch, while she’d yawned her way through the day, reading poetry.
He took her hand. “If we close up most of the house, think of the people who will lose their jobs. My father hired them, not I, but I cannot find it in my heart to put them them out on the streets.”
“Oh…I hadn’t thought of that.”
His smile, crooked but genuine, did much to thaw her icy anger. “But I’ve something to show you tomorrow. Something I think will please you.”
“What?” She leaned closer.
But then she caught herself and pulled her hand from his grasp. He’d still lied to her, tricked her, and that was hard to forgive. Especially now, with all the years together that loomed ahead…years and years.
“What do you want to show me?” she asked.
“Patience, lass. Let’s get you settled first. Tomorrow will be soon enough.” His smile faded when she yawned. “Sleepy, are you?”
“I didn’t sleep much last night. So much has happened so fast.” She sighed, then fell back to the pillows. “I know it’s early still, but I’d like to just go to bed.”
“Excellent idea. Yesterday was a long and difficult day.” Trick rose, shrugged out of his surcoat, and began unlacing his shirt. “I believe I’ll join you.”
She leapt from the bed. “Oh! I thought this was my chamber.”
“It is.” The shirt came off over his head, and her eyes widened.
His bare chest looked sculpted, with a light sprinkling of blond hair that glimmered in the firelight. She swallowed hard. “Then where is your chamber?”
“It’s mine, too.” He sat to pull off his boots. “We’re married. We’re allowed to share a chamber. I’ve a piece of paper to prove it.”
“But…” She glanced around wildly. “This is a suite, isn’t it? What’s on the other side of that door?”
“A dressing chamber. Feel free to use it. Your clothes are inside.” At her look of astonishment, he added, “Jane has been here all day, arranging your things. I gave her the evening off.”
“I thought you said she hadn’t unpacked yet. And she’s my maid.”
“I believe she’s in my employ, now.” His second boot hit the floor with a thud.
“You’re a duke, for heaven’s sake. Don’t you have a valet?”
“Cavanaugh. But I prefer to undress myself, much to the poor man’s constant chagrin.” His hands on the waistband of his breeches, he looked up. “Actually, I’d prefer to have you undress me, but…” A wry grin revealed that irresistible chipped tooth, and the twinkle in his eye was unsettling. “No, I thought not. But I can play your maid again tonight, if you wish.”
“No, thank you.” She stalked over to the dressing room and shut the door behind her, then had to duck back into the bedchamber for a candle. Gritting her teeth against his laugh, she closeted herself again and began hunti
ng for a night rail.
Every bit as fancy as the bedchamber, the dressing room had a delicate wood table and two upholstered, fringed stools in the center. One wall was covered with an enormous gilt-framed mirror, another wall was lined with wardrobe cabinets, and there were two walls of those newfangled chests of drawers.
The first drawer she opened was filled with Trick’s folded things, and she slammed it shut. She found her own clothes in the third chest she tried. Quickly she stripped out of the wedding dress, diving into the thickest, most voluminous night rail she owned. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp of the amber bracelet, but she finally managed to remove it and set it on the little inlaid table.
The bracelet sat there, taunting her. Amber. The Duchess of Amberley…
Od’s fish, however had she ended up in this predicament? Exactly where she’d sworn she’d never be.
When she reopened the door, Trick was in the bed, and—from all she could tell—stark naked. She paced beside the carved gilt monstrosity, hoping he was already asleep.
His hand shot out to grab hers, stopping her in her tracks. “I gave you my word; I won’t ever try to coerce you. You needn’t worry.”
She bit her lip, eyeing his bare arm and shoulders. “Is that so?”
“Aye. You’re safe, I assure you.”
“Can…can I not have another room?”
“Is something wrong with this one?”
“It’s…too masculine.”
“Too masculine?”
“Yes.” Her tone dared him to disagree, since nothing could be farther from the truth. The red chamber was satin and velvet, feathers and lace—altogether too fussy for her tastes. It looked like a brothel. Or what she imagined a brothel might look like, in any case. “This was your father’s chamber, wasn’t it? I believe I’d be more comfortable in your mother’s chamber. Where is it?”
“In Scotland,” he said shortly, patting the mattress beside him. “Come, Kendra, enough of this. I’m sleepy, and you look ready to drop.”
With a sigh, she walked around the bed and gingerly lay on top of the covers.
Sounding exasperated, his voice drifted over his shoulder. “Get under the blanket. It’s drafty in this gargantuan house.”
Her toes were going rather numb. Giving in, she scooted beneath the coverlet. The feather bed was soft and comfortable. Lying flat on her back, she could feel the rise and fall of Trick’s breathing next to her, the warmth of his body even across the space that divided them.
When he rolled close and laid an arm loosely across her middle, she flinched.
“Shh, it’s all right. Rest.” He raised himself to kiss the tip of her nose, his lips soft and teasing. His amber eyes held hers, making her stomach flutter. Her arms itched to wrap themselves around his neck and draw him down for one of those heart-stopping kisses.
But she knew what that would lead to.
“Aye, leannan, you’re right,” he whispered, his eyes full of meaning.
Had he read her mind?
She felt his body pressing her into the mattress, and his mouth brushed hers. Despite her reservations, she couldn’t stop her pulse speeding up, or the tiny whimper that escaped her throat.
He smiled against her lips. “Aye, you’ll be begging soon enough,” he said, then turned away to blow out the candle.
Shaking—from vexation and embarrassment and an unwelcome sensation she could only call, well, lust—Kendra stared into the darkness and wondered if she’d ever get any sleep while she was married to Trick Caldwell.
FOURTEEN
“WAKE UP, milady. I mean, your grace.”
Kendra forced open her eyes to see Jane standing over her.
“I’ve brought you some breakfast, or should I say dinner?” The maid set a tray on the bed. “It’s late, and his grace is waiting to take you somewhere. A surprise, he said.”
“A surprise?” Struggling into a sitting position, Kendra reached for a cup of chocolate. “He said he had something to show me today, but—”
“A surprise, yes.” Jane’s tall, thin figure disappeared into the dressing room. “He suggested you wear your simplest gown.”
The sound of wardrobes opening and closing came through the open door. “Why would that be?” Kendra asked.
“Well, if you’re not knowing, then how could I?” The maid came in with a plain peach-velvet gown, unadorned but for a narrow lace edging around the neckline and spills of matching lace at the wrists. No overskirt, no jewels or embroidery on the stomacher. “Do you suppose this will do?”
Kendra swallowed a mouthful of bread and cheese. “I’m sure it’s fine,” she said without enthusiasm.
Jane ducked into the dressing room again, her chirpy voice drifting back out. “Brown shoes rather than gold, I’m thinking.”
Kendra took another bite and chewed, not thinking at all. Her brain was now fuzzy from too much sleep.
“And a chemise, and…lud, would you look at this lovely bracelet? Where’d this come from, milady? I mean, your grace?”
“Milady will more than do,” Kendra grumbled. “And leave the bracelet there.”
Jane appeared in the open doorway, her round face marred by a puzzled frown. Winking in the noon sun that streamed through the window, the amber bracelet dangled from her fingers. “Was this a gift from your husband?”
“A wedding gift, yes.”
“Then for certain he’d want you to wear it.”
Setting down the bread, Kendra caught a glimpse of the gold ringing her finger. Enough of a reminder that she was married to a lying duke. “I don’t care for it, Jane.”
Her maid’s mouth hung open. “But it’s so beautiful. And his grace is so handsome and kind—do you not want to please him?”
Of course Jane would think Trick was kind—he’d given her half a day off. And he hadn’t lied to her, either. “I really don’t care for it,” Kendra repeated. “Put it away for me, will you? I expect his grace will forget all about it—you know how men are.”
“Very well.” A doubtful look in her gray eyes, Jane disappeared back into the dressing room. She came out carrying the shoes and chemise and set them on the foot of the bed. “Are you happy here, milady?”
“Of course I’m happy.” Gesturing at the rich, garish chamber, Kendra forced a smile. “Look at this place. How could one not be happy here?”
FIFTEEN
“MR. CALDWELL!” A dozen children bounded down the steps of the sprawling Tudor manor house and clustered around Trick. Laughing, he reached to squeeze shoulders and pat heads, leaving no child unacknowledged.
Kendra stared in utter disbelief. “Mr. Caldwell?”
“Part of your surprise.” He shot her a sheepish grin before turning back to the young ones. They’d focused their attention on Kendra, gaping at her with frank curiosity. Trick waved a hand in her direction. “This is my new wife. Er…Mrs. Caldwell.”
“Please, just call me Kendra,” she rushed to say, smoothing the skirt of the peach gown. Goodness, a new name was a hard thing to get used to. It felt downright strange.
As a duchess, she had no proper surname anymore—she’d be signing letters with her husband’s title, as Kendra Amberley. She didn’t feel like a duchess, but neither did she feel like Mrs. Caldwell.
“I’m glad of your acquaintance, Mrs. Kendra.” A tall, skinny lad held his hand out to her, looking toward Trick for approval. At her husband’s nod, the boy reached to grasp Kendra’s hand and kissed the back of it fervently.
“Ahem. Andrew.” When the boy looked chagrined, Trick mussed his dark, stick-straight hair. “A lad cannot help but admire a pretty lass, aye?”
“Oh, yes,” Andrew said reverently, and Kendra watched Trick bite his lip to keep from laughing.
“Mrs. Jackson, there you are.” Trick waded through the sea of children, making his way toward a plump, matronly woman with gray curls and a pleasant face. He fished a black pouch from his surcoat pocket and handed it over. “Here you go. I apologize for bein
g late. I’ve been…busy.”
“I can see that.” The woman smiled at Kendra.
“Mrs. Jackson, may I present my wife—”
“Mrs. Kendra,” Andrew supplied in a worshipful tone.
Kendra didn’t have the heart to correct him. “I’m glad of your acquaintance, Mrs. Jackson.” She executed a tiny bow, for all the world as though they were at Whitehall Palace.
Mrs. Jackson beamed. “Likewise, your gr—Mrs. Kendra.” Kendra heard the metallic clink of coins as the woman sifted through the pouch. “So generous, Mr. Caldwell! The children are grateful—as ever,” she added, with a wink for Kendra.
He waved that away, looking embarrassed. “It’s my pleasure. I’ll not let the poor things starve so long as I have the means to help.”
“Starve?” Mrs. Jackson’s belly jiggled beneath her apron as her laughter rang through the heavy summer air. “They’re better fed than half the parish. Why, I daresay some villagers pray nightly to be orphaned so they may find themselves at Caldwell Manor.”
Caldwell Manor? Did Trick finance this entire operation, then? Kendra looked toward her husband, his golden hair glinting in the late afternoon sun, and her heart softened a little.
He laughed. “Let’s hope not. A hearty meal is a sad substitute for parents. How is little Susanna?”
“Much better. Her fever is down and she’s sitting and taking milk. I trust she’ll be up and about in a day or two.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. Maybe I should pay her a visit.”
“By all means. She’ll be cheered to see you.”
“Kendra? If you’ll excuse me?”
Without waiting for her agreement, Trick climbed the six front steps in three strides and disappeared into the house. Wearing only breeches and a shirt, no cravat and no coat, he looked decidedly unduke-ish. Through that battered oak door passed someone who had accomplished Kendra’s own dream, opening an orphanage.
Stunned, she stared after him while the children scattered through the garden, picking up balls and hoops.
Two girls tugged shyly on her skirts. “Will you play with us, Mrs. Kendra?”
