Four Times a Virgin (Irresistible Aristocrats Book 2)

by Suzi Love

  “I think you’re carrying my child; our child.”

  Carina ignored his wistful look. “I don’t think so.” She suspected that she was enceinte, but until she was certain she’d admit nothing because Max would override all her protests and put his ring on her finger. And she refused to marry for the wrong reasons.

  “Time will tell,” he said. “I think your belly will soon swell with my babe. You’ve not bled in several weeks.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Huh! I’ve had plenty of experience with women’s cycles and moods. Besides which, I know your body better than I know my own.”

  “Ah, yes. The legendary Stirkton and his knowledge of the female anatomy. Developed over countless years with innumerable women. Nature would have disrupted your schedule on occasions, I imagine, forcing you to avoid the cottage and messy women.”

  Max flinched. Despite the truth behind her words, her blunt delivery made him even more ashamed of his past conduct. “I meant that after being so close these past weeks, I’d have noticed signs of your menses. Alice’s wedding is in a week’s time and, by then, you should know for sure.”

  “Possibly,” she said.

  He stepped closer and touched his forehead to hers. “I’ll be overjoyed if you are expecting, though I’ve no idea how well I’ll do as a father. Still, I look forward to being a parent alongside you.”

  “Stop. Don’t make this any harder. Please let me go, for now at least. With all that’s happened, I can’t think clearly.”

  “I’ll leave, but if you carry my child, nothing can prevent me from claiming you as my duchess.” He pulled her to him and kissed her hard and long until she trembled in his arms. Her face flushed with desire and she instinctively pressed her curves into his body. “You want me as much as I yearn to claim you.”

  “Then say you love me. Say the words and we’ll be married today or tomorrow, as soon as possible. Otherwise, let me go.”

  His mouth opened and he tried, he really tried, to give her the words she needed. Pointless to blame his cold upbringing, when the fault lay directly with him and his dread of open displays of emotion. Carina gathered her cloak and walked out of his door and his house, and possibly his life.

  When his butler spoke several minutes later, he realized he hadn’t moved but still stood in place, as cold as the marble busts dotted around the walls of his study.

  “Your Grace, will there be anything else?”

  He shook himself. “No, Benson, nothing.”

  His butler walked away, though Max longed to call him back and solicit his advice, despite keeping the regulation distance between he and his staff and never having confided in a servant before. Still, Carina spoke to her butler often, as equals and even friends.

  He cleared his throat loudly and waited until Benson turned and came towards him. “You were employed in my grandfather’s household when you were younger.”

  “Indeed I was, Your Grace.” Benson sighed. “I was present when Your Grace returned home from Eton each Christmas.”

  “Do you perhaps remember my mo…mother?” He’d been forbidden from ever speaking of his mother, so it was difficult to call her by that familial name. “Or how the Hall flowed when she was alive?”

  “Oh, yes, indeed I do.” A happy smile creased Benson’s face. “Things were very different then.”

  “How so?”

  “Your mother, the late duchess, was a wonderful lady. She spoiled you every year at Christmas to make up for not being allowed see you during the rest of the year.”

  “I spent Christmas with my mother?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. When you were younger, your grandfather allowed you to spend Christmas with your mother in the country.”

  “So, even then my grandfather made all the decisions about me.”

  “Before your sire was killed in that hunting accident, he took control, especially at the Hall, though no one was allowed forget that your grandfather controlled the finances. When your father was killed, your mother was distraught, and not only because of how much she loved your father.”

  “What do you mean? I thought my mother and father lived separate lives.”

  “Your grandfather tried to force them apart after you were born. One heir was sufficient and he didn’t want your mother conceiving a second time.”

  Max’s thoughts spun faster than a child’s wooden top. Augustus’s version of this story had been the opposite to Benson’s. “My grandfather deliberately kept my father away from my mother?”

  “Your father was dispatched to London on one sham pretext after another, and women, lower class women, were pushed into your father’s path time and time again.”

  Max rubbed his temples. “He wanted my father to take mistresses so he’d stay away from my mother?”

  “It wasn’t the staff’s place to judge, or to reason with the late master, but we all understood his intentions. He wanted your lineage kept pure by having one perfect son in each generation. Siblings would have divided your attention and distracted you from your studies. And, they might have expected a share of the family’s wealth.”

  Max shook his head in disgust. He’d been robbed of parents to love and siblings to relieve his loneliness because one sick, perverted old man had been obsessed with creating his dynasty. His stomach heaved and he feared shocking Benson by retching. For himself, he was past caring about the strictures and rules he’d been indoctrinated with, because it seemed so pointless.

  “Benson, what a fool I’ve been. I believed all the lies. Believed that my mother rejected me and refused to have other children.”

  “We always regretted that your childhood was so short-lived. Cook, the housekeeper, all of us at the Hall, tried to give you a little bit of the love you lost when your mama died, but the old master threatened us with dismissal if we stepped out of line. No descendant of Augustus Meacham was to be mollycoddled.”

  Max was heartsick, especially when he opened his mind to memories of his mother. “Did my mother grow roses?”

  “Oh, yes.” Benson smiled again, his face lighting up and replacing his normal, austere expression with glee. Max felt worse when he realized that Benson was a man with emotions, expressions and memories and he could have shared things years earlier if Max hadn’t been a...What had Lucille called him? A stuffed shirt.

  “...They were her pride and joy.” Benson had a faraway look in his faded gray eyes. “After you, of course. The house was filled with roses and when you were home, you helped cut blooms for the vases. Your mother distilled oil from her roses to wear as a fragrance on her person. The Duchess smelled beautiful.”

  “She smelled of roses.”

  “Or lavender,” Benson said, “or any other flower she could distill.”

  No wonder those floral scents filled him with joy when Carina wore them, and why being hugged by his school friend’s mother had comforted him. His mother had loved him, and her young son had adored her.

  The Countess was mistaken because this duke was capable of loving and accepting love, and he’d prove it to Carina, even if it took a lifetime.

  “Thank you, Benson. I never knew that Mama, or anyone else, loved me.”

  “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but aren’t you forgetting someone?”

  “Someone?” Max was more than a little bemused. To be having his first personal conversation with Benson at twenty-nine was bizarre, but he suddenly wanted to know other people’s opinions on all sorts of things, and make decisions based on facts and not beatings.

  Benson shuffled his feet. “I...that is ...”

  “Spit it out man. I’m not going to bite your head off for speaking frankly.”

  “We, your staff, have noticed the changes in recent weeks, in Your Grace’s mannerisms and behavior.”

  “For the better or for worse?”

  “Oh, definitely for the better. Since you met the Lady Dorchester and her delightful sisters, you’ve found a purpose for joining society, and that invol
vement with others has, in return, made you more relaxed. If I may be so bold, more human.”

  “And is being human good?”

  “Most assuredly. You’ve dealt with those poor ladies in a commendable fashion and your feelings have become obvious to all of us.”

  “What feelings would that be, Benson.”

  “The consensus below stairs is that you’ve fallen in love, and those feelings are so intense, so unusual for someone of your upbringing, that you’re floundering. Feeling out of your depth and uncertain how to proceed.”

  “Humph! I never knew my staff were such keen observers of human nature.” Odd that his household knew better than their master about feelings and emotions. “So you’ve concluded that abnormal behavior means that I’m having romantic feelings but I’m unable to progress because I don’t know how.”

  “Exactly. You love Lady Dorchester. You should follow your heart and let nothing prevent you from securing the Countess as your duchess so that… Well, so that all our lives can be meaningful and enjoyable once more.”

  Max meekly nodded. “I’ll consider what you’ve said.”

  “We have faith that you’ll arrive at the correct conclusion, because you’re like your mother and she was a very wise, considerate and loving lady.”

  Benson left Max alone with his thoughts. He’d learned more about his parents, and himself, in a single day than during all the years with his grandfather. He now knew that he was capable of loving and of being loved. At long last, his heart was light and he felt ready to conquer the world, or at least the small part that Carina inhabited.

  Whatever she needed from him he vowed to give, and he’d revel in every new discovery. Rules he’d thought written in stone could, and would, be broken. Wherever they resided would become his home, as long as it was with the woman he loved. And yes, he did love Carina and he was finally strong enough to admit it.

  Now, he needed to tell her and, if necessary, to go down on one knee and beg her to give him a chance to prove how much, and how deeply, he could love.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Carina’s week had passed as quickly as the previous eight weeks. However, her personal enjoyment of the social flurry had greatly diminished. Max’s carriage arrived punctually every evening and whisked them off to London’s most prestigious balls, routs and musicales, and they often crammed three or four events into an evening.

  To her dismay, Max had fallen into the habit of arriving with them, lingering around the edges of rooms for half an hour, and then disappearing. If he wanted to punish her for not accepting his offer, he was succeeding because thoughts of where he went, and who he spent time with, were robbing her of sleep and raising her temper.

  Though exhausted, Carina was delighted with the progress they’d made for securing her sisters’ futures. Georgie’s quietly reserved, though ardent, admirer had asked for her hand in marriage, and her quiet sister had stunned them all when she’d declared that she loved Daniel and couldn’t wait to become his wife, share his home and his bed. Georgie had blossomed from a pale and retiring girl who was scared of her own shadow into a confident woman, who was looking forward to her future with open delight.

  Carina couldn’t be happier, because Daniel was a steady but strong man, whose wife had died three years earlier. Though devoted to his two small girls, he had been desolate and lonely, and not looking for another woman to replace his much loved wife. Then he and Georgie had bumped into each other, literally, while both hovering on the edges of a ballroom and seeking an escape route.

  Sharing confidences and past hurts, their mutual love had quickly grown and, with Daniel’s children already pleading for Georgie to become their new mother, the pair would shortly become husband and wife. The announcement had been in the morning paper, banns had been read in church, and their quiet and stable alliance had thrilled and relieved Carina, so much so that she, Gertie, and Lucy had already shared several bouts of happy tears.

  Gregarious Lucy had, as expected, taken to ton life like a duck to water, though she missed riding, fetes, afternoon visiting and all the other more relaxed aspects of country life. To compensate, she’d arranged to spend a few weeks with friends at their small estate in Surrey after the season finished.

  The family had six siblings, one son and five daughters, and as that son was smitten with her and openly praised her sunny and caring approach to others, including his sisters, Carina expected an announcement within the next six months. She couldn’t believe that Fortune had, for once, smiled on them, or that she and Gertie would soon be free to start their Continental adventures. That left one major hurdle to be jumped.

  Standing at her bow window, Carina watched one part of her major problem march down the street towards her house. Gertie had been so certain that Max would arrive with first light, she’d set an extra place at their breakfast table. Carina, however, understood him better and knew he’d gather all available information before confronting her. She’d calculated to the half hour how long before word of last night’s incident would reach Max’s ears, and how much time he’d need to extricate himself from whatever, or whoever, occupied his evenings.

  She shuddered at the image of Max being summoned from his cottage—their bed in their cottage—and reluctantly dragging himself away from the naked woman sprawled across his tangled sheets. Those thoughts tortured her, yet she clung to the belief that Max cared for her, and about her, and wouldn’t hurt her by taking another mistress, at least not until she’d left London. He’d have issued orders to the numerous men assigned to follow and protect her, and her household, and he’d have sent a pack to hunt down her assailant from last evening.

  Max held himself ramrod straight and his fisted hands swung wildly as he took the stairs two at a time. Heaven save her, their confrontation was going to be worse than she’d feared, because the Duke had clearly unleashed his normally controlled temper and she was about to receive a blast of that fury.

  She sighed. She’d hoped Gertie would be proved wrong and that Max would be occupied with interrogating inspectors and constables, or anyone else he could squeeze for information. Because, last night, someone had tried to kill her and she suspected that her overly-protective lover was not about to be appeased by her reasonable explanation.

  She pulled a chair up before the unlit fire, willing her trembling to cease, and forced herself to appear calm and composed. Not that she feared Max, quite the opposite, but being attacked had sorely tested her physically and stretched her nerves until, suffering after-effects, she feared she’d swoon at his feet when Max let fly with his outrage on her behalf.

  Crying before him would be akin to setting a match to his fire and her would-be assailant would find himself in more acute danger than when horses’ hooves had thudded down onto the road mere inches from her head. Not waiting to be announced, Max strode into the room as if the devil were chasing him. Carina shivered, but she wouldn’t back down.

  Her enemy would certainly target Max next, and she’d die before she allowed him to be harmed. She’d divert his attention away from this house, from her, and from them, so she could retaliate against the person she believed responsible for assaulting her, but without Max’s involvement or interference.

  “What happened?” When he loomed over her, she barely resisted the urge to shrink back into the chair. If ever she needed a clear head, it was now. Because she had to damp down his worry, pretend her whipping had been accidental, and send him away once more.

  She waved a hand and shrugged. “An accident, nothing more.”

  “I’m in no mood for lies. A rider doesn’t skirt the pavement of a busy theatre by accident. Nor does a man carry a cattle whip if he’s simply riding home. You were his target and he deliberately rode close and unfurled his whip. If he’d struck you about the neck, he could have killed you.”

  “There’s nothing to prove that he intended me any harm. Several groups were walking from the theatre towards their carriages, so it’s impossible to say wh
ether the whip’s stroke was aimed at anyone.” She slid her hands into the folds of her gown, and then held her breath when his gaze focused on her arms.

  He frowned. “Are you cold?” She shook her head and looked down at her lap. One hand was firmly tugged out from her gown and Max lifted it higher. “Then why are you wearing gloves inside the house?”

  Damn the man and his sharp eyes.

  “I dressed for a walk in the park.”

  Quick as a wink, he undid the tiny buttons at her wrist and, ignoring her protests, pushed up her sleeve. His breath hissed, harsh and long.

  She tugged on her sleeve with her other hand but, once again, he moved too fast and her sleeve was pushed higher until her forearm was fully exposed. She heard a tortured sound but couldn’t see his face, as his head was bent close to the vivid red streak running wrist to elbow up her arm. He unbuttoned her glove, pushing aside her arm when she tried to stop him, and carefully slid the glove off her palm and away from her hand.

  She thanked providence that, though her hand was grazed from the road, it wasn’t badly injured. Her gratitude came too soon, because it took him mere seconds to secure her other hand and strip away its glove. Gertie had covered the largest cut with gauze but it was already blood-soaked, causing another agonized groan from Max. Her plan to exclude him from a dangerous situation took another downhill turn.

  Max’s inherent nature was imperious and unbending, so she accepted that diverting him for any length of time would be difficult, but he dismantled her defenses within minutes. A small part of her remained grateful she’d not been forced to tell lies, while the larger part had dreaded his reaction to both her wounds and the danger she’d faced. Though his arrogance and self-conceit made him difficult to deal with emotionally, she’d never doubted that his protective instincts were for the benefit of others, not himself. He was a fighter and a warrior and would gladly give his life to save another.

  He frowned over her hands, before placing the right in her lap and unwinding the gauze from the left. Dried blood clotted the wound where the whip had laid open a gash of around four inches diagonally across her palm, and the bandage was stuck fast.