Disciplining the Duchess

by Annabel Joseph

  “I’m glad to hear it. Join me and take some breakfast.” He gestured to the empty chair opposite him.

  The sideboard was laden with enough food to feed a dozen people. Either the duke had the appetite of a horse and had requested this largesse, or the innkeeper hadn’t been sure what to serve, and so served a little of everything. The duke had already finished his plate. He watched her take some toast, marmalade, and a hard-cooked egg.

  “And you, Your Grace?” she asked politely once they were seated opposite one another. “Did you sleep well?”

  “No, I did not.”

  There went her appetite. She tried to eat a few bites of preserves slathered on toast anyway. He watched her, his eyes brooding, his mouth drawn down in a slight frown. There was a strange formality between them now, a new gravity. He was not precisely cross—he had forgiven her, he said. But he was not at ease either. Still worried about marriage, she supposed, but how to go about assuring a man like the duke that he did not have to marry her? It would seem awfully awkward and perhaps even presumptuous.

  Unable to bear the tension, she pushed her plate away. “Can we go to the wall now?”

  “When you have finished your breakfast.”

  She pulled it toward her again, forcing down toast and dry eggs and blobs of sweet jam because he expected her to. She couldn’t help wondering, just a little, what it would be like to be married to him. He made her feel fluttery and excited, even times like now when he was in a prickly mood. Wicked thoughts plagued her all through breakfast, and continued to plague her as they took leave of the inn and climbed into the carriage. Thoughts of him touching her, holding her. Thoughts of his strength and virility. It was worse in the carriage because he was so close. She stared at his knees, his hands, his calves.

  Even through the traumatizing experience of his spanking, she’d been aware of his body wherever it touched hers. He had been so firm, so powerful in the way he handled her. So capable and…large. Did his clothes not fit far too well, revealing too much beauty and grace in his physique? He should have pity on the ladies and wear shapeless garments instead of expertly tailored ones. She tried to imagine him in a loose dressing gown like her father wore, with a wool nightcap over his dark, unruly hair, but she couldn’t envision it. Her mind got stuck instead on the thought of how His Grace might look without any clothes at all.

  She shook her head violently and stared down at her lap, rearranging the folds of her dress.

  “Miss Barrett? Are you quite well?” he asked with a concerned expression.

  “I am very well,” she said quickly. Or I would be if you were not so terribly handsome. If you were not so lofty and commanding that I feel giddy a lot of the time.

  “We will arrive soon,” he said. “I only hope you are not disappointed. It’s a crumbling stone structure stretching across the countryside. You will not see Romans there, nor anything very exciting.”

  “Of course I know that. It’s the historical significance of the place that excites me, not anything I may or may not see.”

  His Grace regarded her a moment, then leaned back in his seat. “I must confess, I am curious how you became so interested in the study of history.”

  “I suppose I love history because it provided…I don’t know…some pleasant form of escape.”

  “Escape? From what?”

  She shrugged, recalling so many hours hiding away behind doors, beneath covers, seeking solace and companionship from a book in her lap. “Well…from things that challenged me in my day to day life. You know, my father styles himself a gentleman historian and has collected many books on the subject. At home we have a library of three hundred or more books. Papa is very proud of it. He let me read every one.”

  “Every one? You’ve read three hundred history books?”

  “More than that. I used to borrow from Papa’s friends.”

  “You used to? You don’t anymore?”

  She met his gaze with a bit of temper. “My brother began to complain about the way I read and study. I beg him to take me to book shops in London but he says no. Papa would take me but he rarely leaves the country anymore. Now and again I use my own money to buy books but I have to hide them. If Stephen finds them he takes them away.”

  “Why would he do such a thing?”

  “He wants me to be like other ladies, primping and flitting about town. He says I am too bookish and he gets into a temper and scolds me and…well.” She looked out the window, then back at him. “It is very tedious, as you can imagine.”

  The duke steepled his fingers and brought them to his lips. “I dislike your brother intensely.”

  “I do, too, most days. He won’t understand that I hate taking part in society functions. I would like nothing better than to retire to the country alone, with my books, and stay there for life.” There, she’d practically come right out and said that she didn’t expect him to marry her.

  If he received her underlying message, he made no sign, only pulled at the hem of a sleeve, looking very serious and ducal. “I have a number of history books I no longer read. When we return to London, you may view my collection and choose whatever you like to further your studies.”

  Harmony could barely believe his generosity. “Your Grace, you are so kind.”

  “No,” he said. “I am not kind enough.”

  The carriage halted and the driver appeared at the door to let the stairs down.

  The duke leaned forward, offering his hand. “We are here, Miss Barrett. Prepare to bask in the glory of your old Roman wall.”

  *** *** ***

  Court was incorrect on two counts. Miss Barrett was not at all disappointed in the crumbling wall. And she saw Romans everywhere.

  The awkward young woman he knew was replaced with an eager historian walking along the periphery of the wall as if in some dream. “Just imagine,” she’d murmur every so often. Or “They walked right here.” Or “I wonder…” She wondered very many times about very many things. She wondered if the view was the same in Roman times. She wondered how many invaders had trod the ground upon which she trod. She wondered, perhaps gruesomely, how many had perished in the very place where she stood. She put her hands right on the crumbling stone, gently, as if she might damage it with her delicate fingers.

  “I wonder who built this,” she said. “I wonder who placed this very rock, and what his hopes and dreams were when he was alive so many years ago.”

  It seemed to him that she wondered more than any person he’d ever known. She looked achingly pretty flitting about the historic site, with the sun in her hair and excitement in her eyes. He enjoyed her intellect at times like these, when she was not irritating or challenging him.

  In truth, he thought, she would make an interesting wife.

  But it was difficult to imagine her as a duchess, particularly when she seemed set on some solitary country existence. She would have to come to terms with her place in society as the wife of a high-ranking gentleman. With effort and attention, the worst of her shortcomings could be corrected, but Court feared she’d never achieve the arrogant finesse of those who would make up her set.

  As if to prove his point, Miss Barrett scrambled up a small rise adjacent to the length of wall they were exploring and flopped inelegantly on her back. She took no care to adjust her skirts—several inches of her ankles plainly showed. He was torn between insisting she compose her appearance and staring at the elegance of her shapely, stockinged leg. The part of it he could see, anyway. He had very little difficulty imagining the rest.

  But he must not slaver over his soon-to-be betrothed. It was not the thing to do, when there was a world of courtesans, actresses, and dissolute women who made themselves available to men of his rank. He had always imagined he would continue to use such professional services after marriage, but he wasn’t so certain now. He hadn’t lain with Miss Barrett—Harmony—last night, but even the spanking had far surpassed any experience he’d enjoyed in the company of a professional. Now he st
ared at her rashly bared ankles and wondered how she might slake his other lusts.

  “Your Grace, you must lie back with me and look at the sky!” Her delighted voice interrupted his lurid fantasies. He felt so guilty he actually complied, strolling over and sitting beside her, but not too close, and leaning back on one arm. He raised his eyes and noted there was indeed a lovely sky today. All blue, no clouds whatsoever. Late summer in the north of England could sometimes be…magical.

  “No, you must lie completely down,” she scolded with good nature. “I know you shall sully your beautiful coat just a bit, but believe me, the view is worth it.”

  He scoffed. “I have not sprawled back on the grass like that since I was a child.”

  “That’s a shame. When you lie back and look up, it’s like the sky is a large blue bowl above you. There is nothing but endless heavens. I wonder what it would be like to see the earth from up there.” She reached to the sky as if she could capture it. “I wonder how high a person might go.”

  I wonder… I wonder… I wonder… With a sigh, he lowered himself back, and for the first time in many years stretched his full length along the ground. The earth was a hard bed, but not unpleasant.

  “I wonder how many people have lain back here, just like us, to gaze at the sky,” she continued softly. “Romans, or even those who came before. Perhaps a young herding boy or a girl daydreaming of a suitor. Perhaps some Romans had an assignation here beneath the blue sky and sun.”

  “Miss Barrett, you are scandalous.”

  She ignored his teasing, carrying on in her wistful voice. “It is entirely possible, you know. This wall has been here for nearly two thousand years.”

  “And before the wall?” he asked. “Even before the wall, people walked here. Creatures, perhaps, that we have never even known.”

  “Dragons,” she breathed.

  “Perhaps. The world is ancient, and everything in it.”

  Her eyes shone with new thoughts, new questions yet unspoken. How whimsical he was becoming, to encourage her so. Perhaps, rather than improving his wife’s peculiarities, he might become over time as peculiar and ill-mannered as she. His mother had already accused him of such. Harmony was looking over at him now with the most sincere gaze of…adulation.

  “Yes, Your Grace. Everything is ancient, as you say. How can we ever understand all of it?”

  “We needn’t,” he said, a practical stick-in-the-mud. “We need only understand the questions and concerns that affect us directly.”

  She turned away to look back at the sky. She was thinking so hard he expected her to pass out at any moment from the pressure of all the “I wonder’s” in her head. She closed her eyes and spread her arms outward.

  “I can feel the earth moving under me,” she said.

  Nonsense, he thought.

  “Can you feel it, Your Grace? The sway of the earth beneath you?”

  “Yes,” he lied, only to hear her sigh of pleasure.

  “It’s like a mother rocking a baby to sleep, don’t you think?”

  “I surmise we are the babies,” he intoned lightly.

  He waited for the next “I wonder” but none came. After several moments of silence he became aware that Miss Barrett had drifted to sleep there beside the Roman wall, rocked by the earth under her big blue bowl of sky. He leaned up quietly so he would not wake her, and regarded her for some time with his head propped on one hand. It seemed too intimate to watch her sleep, although they were both fully dressed and outdoors within view of the coachman, who waited patiently some distance away.

  He noted that the little thinking lines on her brow eased as she fell into sleep. As time passed, as her slumber deepened, her lips parted a bit so her pretty mouth took on a sensual air. He very much wanted to kiss those lips, but he did not. He wanted to place his hands against the softness of her waist, run them over the silhouette of her breasts and hips, so erotic beneath the propriety of her gown. He wanted to clasp her to him and bury his nose in the curve of her neck, breathe her in and then lick the steady pulse that jumped just under her skin.

  She was too vulnerable and sweet in sleep for him to think about the carnal things he’d like to do to her then. Instead he admired her delicate blonde lashes resting against pale skin, and thought how very many wishes they might bring him if only he believed. Then those lashes fluttered open. For a moment the big blue sky was reflected in her sleepy, unguarded gaze. He could not have looked away from her at that moment, not for any amount. Then the thinking lines were back. She looked past him, around them, remembering where she was.

  “Oh, bother,” she said. “I fell asleep?”

  “For a short time.”

  “You ought to have woken me up.”

  “You looked tired.” She still looked beautifully, drowsily tired, but they couldn’t tarry much longer. Their small escape out of time and place was at an end. “We must return soon, Miss Barrett.”

  A frown chased away the last of her sleepiness. “I would rather not.”

  He watched her, but no, still no acknowledgement of their situation or the repercussions thereof. So be it. He would rather travel back with her in a state of comfortable companionship than hysteria over impulsive mistakes. There would be enough hysteria later, from all concerned parties. His mother would keel over dead.

  “My brother will be so, so angry,” she sighed as she sat up. “Really very angry.”

  Court rose to his feet and extended a gloved hand to help her rise. “He will get over it. Everything will be settled soon enough.”

  “And I shall have to travel all the way back to London with him tomorrow. A whole week’s time to endure his endless scolds.”

  “I’m sure it will be nothing like that.”

  Her gaze met his with resigned sadness. “I shall miss you very much when we part, Your Grace. Perhaps I shouldn’t say such a thing, but it is the way I feel in my soul.”

  How dramatic she could be. He turned away from her to brush at the sleeves of his coat. “You forget. I have made promises to you. To give you some of my books, at the very least. There is no need to speak of missing one another.”

  It was quite ridiculous to speak of missing one another, considering the scene that would play out when they returned. He could not decide yet if their situation was tragic or hilarious.

  Somehow, he imagined it would end up being both.

  Chapter Seven: Discussion

  They rode the few hours back to Danbury House in comfortable silence. Harmony was too caught up in her memories of the day to carry on polite conversation, and the duke seemed reluctant to talk. She enjoyed that about him, his reserved, taciturn nature. She liked his stares, his mysterious expressions, because they gave her more to wonder about.

  She liked him.

  She looked up at him furtively for what must have been the hundredth time. She liked him very much indeed, and would miss him when they parted. She would miss his thoughtful blue-green eyes and his large, capable hands that looked only slightly more civilized in gloves. His hands were too large to be gentlemanly, it must be said, but he was an eminently civil man. One got the feeling around him that he rarely became flustered or lost control, which was a rare trait in her experience. Her brother was the opposite. He was constantly fretting and whining, and doing things that showed an intolerable lack of restraint. Of course, she probably appeared the same to the Duke of Courtland.

  Harmony stole so many glimpses she began to feel embarrassed about it. He occasionally, unknowingly, obliged her by turning to stare out the window. Then she might gaze openly at his robust posture, the masculine set of his jaw. She remembered the day by the lake when she’d strolled beside him, how very strong and firm his forearm had felt beneath his fine coat. Now she truly knew the strength of that arm.

  She hadn’t forgotten about that, her spanking. She would not tell the other ladies about it, for they would never understand. It hadn’t felt mean or cruel, more a natural extension of his obvious need to co
ntrol, to rule. To behave as a disciplined person and sometimes exert that discipline upon those around him. Those needs were just one more intriguing aspect about him, and not exactly repulsive to her mind. Strange? A little, perhaps. He was still a kind man. She was certain of that.

  But he was a duke, at the end of it. He always would be, and she would always be odd Miss Harmony Barrett who had never found her place in the world. She would doubtless have many regrets about their journey when they returned to Danbury House, but she knew she could never be fully sorry because she had enjoyed her time in his company.

  Oh, she would miss him so much.

  “What is the matter?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  “N—Nothing, Your Grace.”

  “You look troubled.”

  Harmony swallowed hard. “I was just thinking that I have enjoyed knowing you, but we are very different from one another.”

  “We are. But in some ways, I imagine we are the same.”

  “What ways?”

  He gave her an unfathomable look. “A puzzle for you, Miss Barrett. To occupy your time. How are we the same?”

  “I don’t know.” She studied him, wishing she knew him better. Wishing she had more time to discover who he truly was. “What is the story of your life, Your Grace? What has made you into the man you are today?”

  He pondered a moment, rubbing his fingers over his lips and then brushing them down his chin. “I was born to the Duke and Duchess of Courtland thirty years ago. I was raised from the most tender age to succeed my father to the title, which occurred when I was fourteen years old.”

  She waited, but he said nothing more. “That’s it?”

  His cultivated features took on a severe air. “That is the story of my life. I left out the minor details.”

  “You left out all the details.”

  “I shared the details I wished to share. But you see the man I am before you. What brought me to this state is irrelevant. All that matters is the manner in which I conduct myself going forward.”

  “I see,” she said. “How philosophical of you.”