Duke in Darkness: Wickedly Wed, Book 1

by Davidson, Nicola

  He sighed and shifted uncomfortably. “It was.”

  “Why don’t you take off your jacket and waistcoat and cravat?” she blurted. “I daresay that would help you relax a little.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Not at all. Let me help. I want to help.”

  Gabriel stared at her for the longest time, so long and so intently that Lilian was quite sure she had a spot on her chin. Then he sat up. “Very well, madam wife.”

  Strangely, it felt like she had achieved a major victory.

  Shuffling forward on her knees across the rug, Lilian halted beside him and assisted in removing his impeccably tailored black jacket and gray waistcoat, leaving him in just a white linen shirt with slightly puffed sleeves and closed at the throat with one button, and his buff-colored trousers. Then, using her fingernails, she unpicked the deceptively simple knot of his cravat, and unwound the length of starched white linen from his throat. “How is that?”

  “Much better. Hate them all. So tight…makes my scars itch.”

  Lilian stilled at the casual comment that was anything but, hope and relief twisting together in her stomach like hundreds of wild butterflies. He was going to talk to her? Very, very tentatively she replied, “On your back?”

  “Back. Chest. Side. Legs. Foot. They cut me…everywhere.”

  “What they did was pure evil. I cannot even grasp such actions. Wait, you are wearing stockings still. Are they comfortable? Or do you prefer bare feet?”

  “Bare,” he admitted, a slight flush highlighting his cheekbones. “But my foot is not fit…to be seen.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Gabriel. If you can bear it, then I certainly can. Take them off.”

  He hesitated, doubt flashing across his face, so she made an impatient, ‘hurry up’ gesture. In return, her husband gave her a mocking salute, then leaned forward and carefully peeled the calf-length cotton stockings from his legs. One foot looked completely normal, lightly tanned and fully formed. But the other…

  Dear God.

  Lilian dug her fingernails into her palms so she didn’t scream. The other was misshapen, like it had been broken and badly repaired. And the underside had a long, gouged-out area surrounded by rough, pink and white crisscrossed flesh. Burned.

  “Told you…it was bad,” said Gabriel, looking away.

  “Wearing shoes must be dreadful.”

  His gaze snapped back to hers, surprise in his eyes. “Yes. Worse than clothing. Especially new shoes.”

  “Hmmm,” she said thoughtfully, her mind whirring as she tried to think of a way to ease the problem. “What if you had pairs made to accommodate some padding for that foot? Perhaps half an inch deeper? Might make it a little more comfortable to walk.”

  Now he just looked flummoxed, and Lilian fought down a surge of anger. Why had nobody, not his tailors nor bootmakers nor anyone else thought to make allowances for his injuries? It would be simple enough for a man skilled in his trade, and the businesses that the ton favored tended to have the best available.

  “I…er…” he mumbled. “Suppose we could try.”

  “Excellent,” she said briskly. “Now, let’s—”

  Her words were cut off as Gabriel captured her mouth in a hot, hungry kiss, his big hands clamping on her upper arms and neatly trapping her. Now she understood why he did so, the instinctive action bothered her less and less. Besides, his kisses were far too good to worry about anything else. The way his lips mastered hers, firm and demanding, was too delicious.

  “Damnation,” he growled suddenly as he pulled away. “Who the hell is knocking?”

  Lilian cursed under her breath. Naturally, the food she had requested would arrive at this exact moment. “I ordered supper to be brought here. Just let me fetch it.”

  Scrambling to her feet while valiantly attempting not to trip over her nightgown or dressing gown, Lilian hurried to the main bedchamber door. Outside two footmen waited with a wheeled cart they had carried up from the kitchens, near-bulging with covered dishes, cutlery, glasses, napkins, and a decanter of wine. “Thank you,” she said with a quick nod. “That will be all.”

  The footmen bowed, and Lilian shut the door. Then she carefully wheeled the cart over to the fireplace, trying not to wince as the silver and crystal clattered and clinked as though she’d pushed it down a staircase. “Here we go.”

  “Don’t want food. Just brandy,” he grumbled, and she almost smiled at the thwarted lust on his face as she removed the covers from the dishes and delicious scents wafted in the air.

  “I’m afraid all I have is wine. But look here. It’s nothing fancy. Just a nice hot beef stew and fresh bread and butter to mop it up. Won’t you have a few bites? I suspect you haven’t eaten all day.”

  Gabriel laughed, yet there was little humor in the sound. “You sound like Hobbs. I’m not a…toddler in the nursery.”

  “No. But you do need something to eat. Perhaps some vanilla custard? That will go down easily if you are feeling a little unwell—”

  “God damn it, Lili,” he snarled, and she flinched at the sound of his closed fist banging on the wooden floor. “I can’t do this now. Not on…this night.”

  Lilian’s heart almost shattered at the pain in his voice. The bleak despair. “I know…I know tomorrow is one year since…”

  Gabriel stared back at her, his expression hollow and raw, his shoulders stooped. “Yes. Since Bayonne.”

  * * *

  He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t bloody do it.

  Gabriel turned and stared at the fire in an attempt to regain his composure. Right at this moment he didn’t know which way was up. Mainly because of Lili, who had shown him such kindness and compassion. Helping him out of the tight-fitting clothing which remained the bane of his life, ordering him supper to ensure he ate. Actually suggesting a way to make his shoes more comfortable for his maimed foot. How odd that he’d never even considered doing that before. Pain had become so usual, so unexceptional, it was almost like an old friend.

  And he was tired. So damned tired. Tired and scraped raw.

  But he wouldn’t sleep. Not tonight. Dread had settled in his belly like a boulder as the cold gray of dusk turned into the pitch black of night, and he could remember the events of a year ago as though they happened yesterday.

  “Gabriel?” said Lili, and he let out a slow breath and turned back to face her.

  “I can’t…” he said hoarsely. “I can’t forget.”

  Her hands twisted together. “I don’t want to put an ounce of pressure on you. But if you wish to talk about it—the battle I mean—I would be happy to listen.”

  In response, his stomach growled embarrassingly loudly. “Perhaps…I should try and have…a little supper first.”

  With dressing gown swirling around her ankles, her hair molten gold in the firelight, Lili bustled around the wheeled trolley. Soon he had a bowl filled to the brim with fragrant, steaming stew, and his mouth watered as though he hadn’t eaten in a week.

  “Bread and butter?” she asked, holding up a small basket of thickly sliced bread.

  “If you insist.”

  “I do,” she said primly, and he almost smiled.

  The stew went down perfectly, as did a bowl of vanilla custard, and Gabriel leaned back on one elbow and rubbed his stomach. “Inform the physicians. I now know…the cure for all ills. Beef stew, custard…and my wife as nurse.”

  Swiftly, Lili collected the empty plates, stacked the cart, and then wheeled it back over to the main bedchamber door to put out into the hallway. When she returned, she settled next to him on the cushion pile. “I worried about you today. That the meeting might be too much after what happened at the ball. The date nagged me, and then I remembered why.”

  His tension returned, but he forced himself to hold her gaze. “It wasn’t easy speaking of…my time in France. What I know of their tactics. I had to stop for water.”

  Silence greeted him, and he wanted to kick himself for the unguarded commen
t that revealed such a weakness in himself. But then she reached forward and took his hand.

  “Gabriel,” she said softly. “I want to apologize in advance if I do or say the wrong thing. I know however hard it will be for me to hear the story, it will be infinitely harder for you to tell it. But you look so tired. I wonder if you might like to rest.”

  “In your lap?” he replied without thinking.

  Lili nodded as graciously as a queen. “Of course. And I wondered if I might, ah, if I could perhaps stroke your hair? Only if you wish it, though.”

  Gabriel tensed at first, but the offer was too tempting. Christ, he needed a gentle touch. “Very well. Just my hair. Not my face.”

  “Yes. Only your hair, I promise.”

  Turning himself around, he carefully lowered his head onto her lap. Soon after, her fingers began a light, startlingly good smoothing motion against his hair, and he leaned into her hand so she might increase the pressure.

  Words started to tumble from his lips.

  “It was pitch black, that night. Like the moon and stars…decided they’d had enough… and left us. No one expected the attack. Why would we? Our siege of Bayonne…was the most leisurely in history. We talked to the French every day. Exchanged goods and letters. And then three o’clock…in the bloody morning. April 14. All hell broke loose. General Thouvenot, the Governor of Bayonne…charged with five thousand men. Pure insanity. Napoleon abdicated on April 12. Even we had heard…the news unofficially…from exploring officers. Spies, that is.”

  Lili gasped, her hand temporarily stilling. “So the governor knew, and yet attacked anyway?”

  “Yes. Out of pure spite. And they came to kill. It was the worst…the most vicious…hand to hand combat…I have ever experienced. So much blood. And the noise. I’ll never forget the sounds. Everything is so much louder…in the dark. Rifles cracking. Swords clashing. The screams…”

  Her fingers trembled. “But you bravely fought on.”

  “Eventually we drove them back. But not before…hundreds and hundreds of men…lay dead. On both sides. The French lost more, in fact. But Major General Hay was killed. And Lieutenant General Hope, two of his staff…and two hundred and seventy-six men…were captured. Including...including...oh hell, Lili…” he struggled to breathe as harsh shudders wracked his whole body, the horrors of that night and what followed flashing through his mind like a series of gruesome paintings. Daylight hadn’t brought respite. Not for him.

  “Don’t say anymore,” she choked out, her free hand reaching down to grasp his. “You don’t have to. It’s hurting you to remember.”

  But he couldn’t stop himself. “There was a ridge. A safer place…with some scattered trees…where we could regroup and reload. I ordered my men up and over it. Hobbs wanted to stay at my side…but the next wave of French soldiers…were charging. I practically threw him over it. There wasn’t enough time…for me.”

  “Oh God,” whispered Lili. “Oh God.”

  “That’s when the French decided…to take me prisoner…rather than kill me. You’ve seen my foot. My face. They didn’t…show mercy.”

  Gabriel pressed a fist to his mouth as nausea roiled in his gut, and he turned onto his side, unable to bear Lilian’s horrified, tearful gaze. Yet even as hot tears splashed from her cheeks onto his hair, she didn’t stop her rhythmic stroking. And that strength, that anchor to the present day, began to ease the raging storm inside his mind. For this touch didn’t harm or hurt, but offered comfort. Greedy for more, he took her other hand and held it tightly in his until the dark memories receded, fought back by a light in the form of his wife’s safe, affectionate touch.

  A kind of peace, at last.

  Chapter 17

  Before she’d even opened her eyes, Lilian knew something was different.

  Her bed felt firmer, and the scent of Sandalwood lingered. The temperature was almost too warm, and strangest of all, a weight rested on her hip.

  Cautiously, she eased open one eyelid, and her breath escaped in a rush at the confirmation she wasn’t in her own bedchamber, but Gabriel’s. In his bed. With his huge body pressed against her back, his head tucked into the curve of her neck, and his hand clamped on her hip. He still wore his shirt and trousers, and she had her chemise and nightgown on, but that didn’t change the fact that they had spent the night together. In the same bed!

  With awareness, came remembrance. Dining together like a picnic on the cushions. His head in her lap, her stroking his hair as he told her the awful truth about the battle at Bayonne. And finally, as her eyes grew too heavy to keep open, Gabriel picking her up and carrying her not to her own bedchamber, but to his bed. From the pale light peeking in through a few gaps in the heavy curtains, it couldn’t yet be dawn, so this temporary sanctuary wouldn’t be disturbed for a little while yet. Much as she reveled in their bedsport and the all the deliciously wicked things he made her say and do, she wanted more of this affectionate closeness, the intimacy of being together and touching fully clothed, too.

  She wanted a hug, blast it.

  Hardly daring to breathe, not wanting to wake Gabriel from his much-needed slumber, Lilian reached down to tug his hand from her hip an inch closer to her belly. After waiting a minute to ensure he slept on, she then tugged his hand a further inch around. Then another.

  “Do you wish to be held, Your Grace?”

  Lilian froze at the amused words in her ear. “I thought you were asleep!”

  “No. Too busy assessing your stealthy maneuver. While somewhat effective, rather inefficient…to quickly achieve your objective. If it was to be held, of course.”

  A giggle escaped at her own foolishness. Stealthy, indeed, with an ex-soldier husband. “Yes, I would like to be held. Tightly. Until the sun rises.”

  Gabriel’s hand slid over her belly and came to rest on the bed beside her breast, tucking her against him with one brawny arm. “Better?”

  “Much better,” she said, with a contented sigh, quite happy to stay like this forever. Or at least until the pressing needs of food and chamber pot rudely interrupted. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Surprisingly well. I’m still quite tired, though.”

  At the odd note in his tone, Lilian slowly turned around to face him, careful not to touch anywhere other than his arm. “Gabriel?”

  He glanced away. “Do you mind if we just lie here? Not anything else?”

  “Look at me, please,” she said softly.

  Reluctantly, he met her gaze again, and stiffened a little, as though bracing himself. “Yes?”

  “I love our marital relations. Or should I say, when a certain wicked colonel binds my wrists to the bedpost and pleasures me, or sits me in front of the looking glass, or bends me over my dressing table,” she continued with a grin, hoping she said this the right way. “But what is also lovely: holding hands. Hair stroking. Lying in bed all warm and cozy and talking. I think we are both aware of the urgent requirement for an heir, but I hope the act will always be done out of desire, not duty.”

  Gabriel exhaled slowly, then he gently rolled her over, settled himself against her back, and tucked her against him again. “Thank you. Yesterday it felt like I had nothing left. But just resting here…it is very soothing. I like it.”

  “I like it, too,” Lilian replied, lacing her fingers with his.

  “Ah, hell.”

  “What?”

  “Your grandmother arranged this marriage. That means I have something…to be grateful to her for,” Gabriel replied, sounding extremely disgruntled.

  Lilian burst out laughing. “Don’t worry, I doubt very much there will be anything else. She’ll be a thorn in our sides for all eternity, offering marital advice and lectures and disapproval of everything we do. My life changed so much when she arrived after Mama died…”

  “How old were you?”

  “Twelve. Ten years ago,” she whispered, hesitating as her mind was suddenly filled with memories of her mother. Games in the nursery. Summer picnics. Da
ncing lessons where Mama would drag Father from his library to demonstrate, and they would twirl and twirl even without music, and she would kiss him, and Father’s ears would go bright red. The jaunts to the country, and the special times when Mama said ‘just Lilian’ and they would venture out to the gardens or the orchard and trudge around getting their hands and hems muddy as they examined the trees and plants. “Father shut himself away when Mama passed. He was inconsolable. So Grandmother came to live with us, and never left. She supervised everything, from our clothing, to our education, to our leisure activities. She lectured and caned us often. That was a shock. Mama didn’t believe in physical punishment. All the things I had so enjoyed, like gardening and plants, were now forbidden. Any rules or instructions Mama had given, were overturned. It seemed like Grandmother wanted to pretend our mother had never existed. Even talking about her resulted in us children getting a caning…oh dear, I’m babbling.”

  “No you aren’t,” said Gabriel, stroking her arm. “Tell me about your mother. What was she like?”

  “Bold. Loud,” replied Lilian, as a smile tugged at her lips. “When she laughed, you could hear it from rooms away. We had a big box of costumes, and would put on shows for Father. Our favorite was pirates, and Mama played the pirate queen. Can you imagine. Also, she would read the newspapers and interrogate Father at the dining table when he returned from the House of Lords. We all adored her. Grandmother did not.”

  “Let me guess. Lady Kingsford said…you and your mother were similar.”

  Lilian froze. “How did you know that?”

  “That time you cried, after your first orgasm. You said you were cursed with…your mother’s hot blood. I can only assume…your grandmother’s accusation.”

  “Yes.”

  Gabriel sighed. “Sounds like jealousy. For the record, I like your hot blood very much. Also your kind heart.”