The Forbidden Duchess

by Lisa Torquay

  Her beauty, her sharpness, her defiance caused his blood to boil. Every time he and she were in the same room, this…result showed.

  In an impulse, he unbuttoned himself and his large engorged member popped out. He gave it the relief it craved.

  Chpter 4

  One week and not a trace of her. He wanted to apologise, to make amends. It seemed she had vanished though. Whenever he asked, the staff would answer she had gone somewhere in the city or a social occasion of some kind.

  Obviously, she kept avoiding him. Not surprising, given the bad, bad way he’d treated her. But one week? Yes, right, so he missed her, what of that? Baiting her was the only way he found to gain her attention. In the process he uncovered a strong-willed woman with a fierce sense of pride and dignity. Astonishing, since he’d had low expectations about her.

  He knew for a fact she didn’t betray John. She seemed completely dedicated to home and hearth. She spent cosy nights in and went to social events with John. Otherwise, she had female friends with whom she socialized. His uncle must feel lucky to have her by his side; she made a fine duchess, he had to admit. Although he couldn’t get rid of this sense of coveting that tore at his guts and made him feel disastrously guilty. For nothing would he step the boundaries. He’d act as a gentleman, even if he felt far, too far, from it.

  He’d have to send her a note, or he wouldn’t get this over with.

  It had been difficult, but Selene managed not to bump into the devil for one week, she thought as she sat in the library this afternoon. Her reading interrupted by a footman. He came in and delivered her a note. As the boy left, she opened the paper to find a firm hand she didn’t recognise.

  “I’ve been seeking Her Grace to apologise for the unacceptable way I behaved the other day. I hope you can forgive me. Respectfully. P.”

  Well, well, if this wasn’t unexpected. She felt better with his apology. She’d felt deeply wounded. She took a sheet of paper from the desk nearby and wrote. “Apologies accepted. Have a good day. S.” She rang for the footman and had it delivered.

  Not that she hadn’t thought of him or, goodness forbid, missed him, inappropriate as it was. She thought it’d be hard to avoid him, but no. He spent his days out horse-riding, exercising or at his club. Social events of the ton didn’t figure as his favourite activity, so she hadn’t seen him in those either. In addition, he never discovered the library constituted her refuge. She intended to continue in this course of action and see him as little as possible.

  A couple of days later, Philip let his room after breakfast, heading to his fencing session at his club. Ahead in the hallway, a shadow moved to the opposite wing. Even though morning advanced, the light upstairs used to be dim because of closed chamber doors. Intrigued, he followed. He could see it was a woman for the volume of the dress. Silently, he paced faster. Fine dress. Selene in avoiding mode.

  Seeming to sense him, she walked faster. Stopping by a door, she opened it smoothly and sneaked in. The servant’s stairs door. He wasted no time. Quickly, he opened the door. A flood of light came from a window above. The place remained deserted at this time of day. He located her leaning against the wall as she probably waited for him to leave.

  She lifted her head and her deep-forest green eyes widened on him. Didn’t she know that she awakened the predator in him? That by evading him she made him hungrier? If she only knew.

  “What are you doing here? She asked coldly. Then she directed her marvellous, vivid eyes to a point beyond him.

  “Ten days of punishment are enough, don’t you think?” He shut the door silently.

  “I was not punishing you, I was preserving myself.” Her eyes never looked at him.

  “Hm.”

  Damn, but she was beautiful! The window light poured on her rich brown hair, illuminating it with copper streaks. Her eyes, made crystalline, received full sunlight. Her pale blue dress brought out her creamy skin. She truly looked like the moon goddess after whom she had been named.

  Mesmerized. The sole possible description to his incapacity of deviating his gaze. This landing was just a cubicle for easy circulation, so they stood close to each other.

  His stillness made her look up at him. And their stares locked. He looked down at her. So petite. He’d be able to enfold all of her in his powerful arms. About to lose it, he perceived. How had he come so near her? Because now he could sense the perfume of orange flowers. He inhaled, the effect on him disastrous.

  Her pupils dilated. She sagged against the wall; she gulped in air. He didn’t know how, but he had leaned his elbows on either side of her head. Their bodies never touched. He could absorb the heat of her; see a vein jumping wild in her throat. He inhaled some more and now there was no denying his vexatious state. His breath quickened.

  She broke eye contact, desperate to annihilate the spell, he reckoned. Her head turned to one side, sighing. Her eyes lowered, her head followed. Her stare found his bulge; and darted abruptly to his, flushing. He nodded very softly, as if saying, this is what you do to me. Wide eyes on him, he admired the tiny spots in her irises.

  He didn’t think she had realised her spine had arched, her delectable bosom close. Still, they never touched. Her full lips parted, her tongue came out to moisten them. He nearly groaned. He’d have given the whole of his fortune, his title, his lands in exchange for a kiss. Only a kiss. A simple kiss. Taste her lips, drink her in, satiate this desert thirst in him. Moral standards be damned. He’d have gone to the gallows for just a kiss. He moved his head, delineating her face, inches away, eyes following, he lowered it to inches of her shoulder, smelling her, sensing her heat. Her heart beat.

  Her bosom lifted and dipped now. Her head fell back, her lashes shuttered, an expression of agony on her goddess face. Her hands held the wall behind her, trying not to fall, trying not to melt.

  A carriage clattered in the street below, the moment gone. She opened her eyes wide, reality downing, he saw. Swiftly, she flexed her knees, passed under his arm and fled to the hallway.

  Exasperated, he raked his hand through his sleek black hair. Tamping the acute frustration, he left that cubicle of a landing.

  Selene entered the library as if she had run the whole of England in a day. Breathless, flushed, hot, alarmed eyes. She passed a hand over her forehead in a total loss what to think. She sank on an armchair dismayed. She felt suffocated. She just wanted to get away from that house, go to their country manor and remain there until she had forgotten all about piercing clove eyes and sleek black hair. As if it could be possible.

  That morning, Philip fenced like a demented soldier in the fever of battle. His friend Darius looked at him puzzled, but said nothing, just repelled Philip’s chaotic blows. If his friend needed help, he’d be there for him. Until then he’d try to survive this session.

  This couldn’t go on, Philip thought as he brandished and dodged blindly. He had to do something. Go away, move out or disappear. Maybe he must get lost in Africa or India, somewhere far and wild, exactly as he felt now. He wouldn’t lie with her, no! This fever in his blood seemed to worsen by the hour. He had to talk to someone, pour it all out. Mayhap he’d feel better. Because right now he might have won the Huns with one hand. Fury, frustration and guilt tore at him.

  Move out, first thing. Stay away. Forget. The sensible list to follow. Who said he could still be sensible? He was losing his mind!

  He should go to Madame Noir’s. It’d take away the edge in him. The idea simply churned his stomach, though. There was only one woman he felt able to touch. She was off limits. End of!

  John and Selene had had busy social nights these past weeks. Tonight, though, they’d decided to stay in and have a quiet dinner. They usually dined the both of them, as the devil took his dinner at his club.

  So, when Selene entered the drawing room for her usual drink with John, she froze. The devil stood by the window with a glass of brandy in hand.

  The sight of him, tall, muscled, piercing eyes perusing her, made h
er heart thunder. She thought it positively unfair a man look so hellishly attractive. Their stolen moment in the servant’s stairs flashed in her mind and coloured her cheeks. He didn’t miss it, an avid expression in his clove eyes.

  “Lady Crompton.” He bowed. They had to treat each other formally in public, of course.

  “Major Rockfield.” She curtsied.

  “My uncle says I’ve been too distant from the family, so I’m dining with you tonight.”

  “Oh,” she concealed her discomfort. “I’ll tell Jenkins to put one more place at the table then.” She turned to go, relieved to have an excuse for that.

  “No need,” he interrupted her. “I’ve already done it.” Needless to say he could do it, since he’d been living in that house from tender age.

  He handed her a glass of sherry. Surprising that he knew it to be her favourite “Thank you.” She blurted and the conversation died.

  She sipped the sweet drink, restless eyes, as she didn’t know where to look. Anywhere but him.

  He, on the other hand never took his piercing eyes from her, following her every move. It made her even more awkward.

  “Oh, you’re already at your drinks!” John came cheerfully in. “Good.” Philip handed him a brandy. He raised the glass. “Sorry, I’m late. There were some matters from the estate to sort out.”

  Jenkins came to announce dinner. Philip quickly offered her his arm to accompany her to the dining room. She preferred not to have any physical contact with him. He seemed to disagree.

  She saw that three places had been settled at one end of the long table. Philip’s idea, no doubt. Selene and John used to have places settled near each other, but with the devil present, she preferred distance.

  The first course served, a soup fortunately. She wasn’t going to be able to eat much, she feared.

  “Don’t you have contact with your family, Lady Crompton?” The devil’s question startled her. “I haven’t met them yet.”

  No. She kept away from her father and stepbrother as much as she could. The first for forcing her to this life the second for having bad habits, so to say.

  “She’s not in good terms with them.” John informed and she felt awkward for being so exposed. The piece of information seemed harmless enough, though.

  “And why is that?” The devil insisted.

  “I prefer not to talk about it.” She devolved dryly.

  “I apologise for intruding then.”

  “It’s a long story, my boy. Better left alone.” John smoothed it out.

  But he wouldn’t leave it alone, Philip thought. What type of family she had, that they didn’t show love or warmth? He’d inquire around and see what he obtained. If there was some kind of wrong done to her, he’d put it right. With his fists, if necessary.

  “Come with me to the study, my boy.” John asked Philip after dinner. “I’d like to discuss some things concerning the manor.”

  Philip could see she felt relieved. His presence unsettled her, he saw. Well, she made him restless just as much. Restless, frustrated, aroused, all at once.

  “I hope you don’t mind being left to your own devices, my dear.” John asked tenderly.

  “Not at all, John. I’ve got some reading to do.”

  “Oh, she’s a bookworm; did you know that, Philip?” He smiled fondly. “She’s capable of spending days in a row in the library and won’t even remember eating!”

  So that’s the place she’d hid from him all those days! Well, another unexpected trait she revealed. He’d never think a title and fortune hunter to be this interested in books. Thinking of it, he’d never known her to frolic around shops for dresses, ribbons or bonnets. She seemed very detached from these frivolities. Bloody hell! Who was this woman?

  Chapter 5

  How unlucky to have her hiding place busted that way, she thought as she pushed the library’s door open. The smell and the sight of books immediately calmed her down. She sat on an armchair, beside which there was a stack of books she had begun reading.

  The Major’s questioning about her family upset her. Her childhood had been the average gentry one. Alternating between the country and London, she and Charles had ample opportunities to play, read or discover nature. Until her adolescence, Charles had been her playmate. They ran through the land around their country house or browsed the library in the city. Their governess had been able to stir them without much problems. Later, the way Charles had been spoiled started to interfere with their relationship.

  He went to boarding school, which made them apart for long months. Each time he came home for the holidays, he seemed more different. They had grown apart. She feared that the time he started his gambling troubles. He’d become irascible, in bad mood and distant. She barely recognised him. With him distant, she concentrated in her studies, thriving in them. Her mother had taken upon her the step-son’s raising and loved him as a son. His bad habits made her sorrowful and prone to sickness. His hollow promises to stop gambling made things even worse. It hadn’t taken much for her to go down with a fever that killed her in the end. Selene sighed, now she found herself here because of his addiction.

  She’d got so engrossed in her reading, she lost track of time. A sudden sound and the door opened. Philip came in without excusing himself, a dark expression on his angular manly face.

  “Selene,” Her name in his rich velvet voice caused her spine to tingle. “You’d better come with me.”

  She didn’t miss the sombre note. “What is it?” She closed the book, placing it on the side table.

  “John. He felt a pain in the chest and fell in the study.”

  Alarm and apprehension dominated her. She rushed out, heart pounding. She turned in the direction of the study.

  “No.” She heard him behind her. “I had the footmen take him to his chambers and call the doctor.”

  In quick paces, she reached her husband’s rooms, which were next to hers. Philip advanced and opened the door for her.

  John lay in bed in his trousers and shirt, coat and cravat gone. So still, a sunken expression on his wrinkled kind face, that she was taken aback. None of his level-headedness or his gentle personality showed here.

  She quickly ran to his side and placed a palm on his cool forehead.

  “What did you do to him?” She turned accusingly to Rockfield.

  His brows pleated irritably. “I didn’t do anything!” His hands flew to his pockets. “We were talking about the estate bookkeeping and all of a sudden, he brought his hand to his chest and fell.” He stared angrily at her. “This all that happened!”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d said something to upset him.” She devolved nonplussed.

  “I’d never do that!”

  She looked at him sceptically and turned her attention back to the older man.

  The doctor arrived and politely asked her to wait outside, as he believed ladies were of delicate constitution. She thought it nonsense, but they couldn’t waste any time, so she left.

  An afflicted hour passed before the doctor came out of the room. He didn’t need to say it aloud. It showed all over his face. John had passed away.

  In distress, she asked. “How did it happen?”

  The doctor made a vague gesture. “His heart stopped. A very common occurrence in his age.” Philip approached. “He was lucky to live such a long life. I know of few people who come to that in our times.” He offered as solace.

  She walked into the room and sat on a chair beside John, now covered with a bed sheet. She felt sad that this gentle man had to pass away so abruptly. She rested her hand over his under the sheet and lowered her head. At least he died peacefully and without suffering.

  Someone came to stand by her. Philip. He placed a respectful hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

  Head still bent, she nodded. “Thank you.”

  Philip looked at his uncle’s form under the sheet and grieved. The man that had been a loving father to him, a
mentor, a model since he’d turned six years of age. Always present, always mindful to a boy’s needs. Philip would forever be grateful to him.

  He remembered arriving at this house after his parents’ funeral. Confused, sad, uncertain about his future. John had received him open arms, treating him with a kindness that helped Philip go through the difficult first months. After that, governesses, tutors, Eton, everything he needed was bestowed on him, provided by his uncle. He grew up grateful and came to love him dearly. In time, he came to terms with his parents’ carriage accident and moved on, becoming a man who valued his share in life. He’d miss John dearly, he couldn’t deny it.

  It didn’t take long until the vicar arrived and the preparations and rituals for the funeral started.

  It all passed in a blur for Selene. The house filled with people who wanted to pay their respects to the Duke of Crompton. Naturally, his rank and position attracted many mourners, standing in a line to express their condolences to the duchess and the heir. As an automaton, she went about managing the servants and their tasks under the circumstances.

  Fortunately, she still had her mourning attires from her mother’s funeral and they would have to suffice, until she could think of more. Ladies of her rank usually held full mourning for six months. She’d had to make herself order more appropriate clothing. In normal times she wasn’t the one to fuss much around wardrobe things, acquiring enough to be presentable. Now, she cared even less.

  The silent procession of people continued. At a certain point, two people stood in front of the chair she sat on, by which Philip stood. She lifted her head and saw her father and her half-brother. A marble expression covered her grieving face.

  She stood up and looked at Philip. Tall and formal in his black trousers and coat, he revealed to be a solid presence by her side during these distressful days. They didn’t speak much, the tension and mistrust still underlying their comportment, they set a tacit truce to undergo the mourning procedures.