If I Were a Duke

by Eva Devon

  He wasn’t able to confess her reaction to his request for a kiss. That was far too demoralizing for words. He? A man that women flocked to could not receive a kiss from his intended without apparent horror or pity.

  His heart sank. Lower. It was too late to turn back now. But the wisdom of this all seemed very doubtful. His usual sense of optimism had taken a very serious turn.

  Ellesmere tapped his cup, not nearly as dismayed as his friend. “You’ve grown accustomed to affectionate marriages. I do not think my parents exchanged above twenty words a day.”

  Tony blinked as he took that in, but he wasn’t about to accept it. He leaned across the table. “That is the stuff of hell.”

  Ellesmere shrugged then drank a touch deeper than before. “They didn’t seem to mind.”

  “Not my parents,” Lock cut in with a laugh as he bandied the bottle, his eyes showing the typical horror of a child with amorous parents. “They were always escaping off to their bedroom. Always kissing, always proclaiming their undying love. Let me tell you, the passion between them was quite something for us children to witness.”

  Tony and all of London were aware of the scandalous behavior of Lock’s parents. He wouldn’t mind a little scandal of his own just now. But she’d firmly said she did not make scandal. So. . . “What the devil am I to do?”

  “Get on with it,” Lock observed dryly and without any particular mercy.

  “Good God, man.” Tony thumped his hand on the table. “I’m not going to war or building a canal.”

  “No.” Lock stared unblinking and leaned forward to emphasize his point. He patted the air a few times. “You’re building a legacy. Hundreds of years of future little Tony’s as Duke of Ayr.”

  “Now, that is a thought,” Tony breathed, both intrigued and aghast. He had not even known he had a lineage of any meaningful sort for half his life. Once he’d discovered it, he’d never thought to perpetuate it. There’d been no need, being a bastard. Now, it was his duty to breed.

  The thought was positively ball crushing. Duty and the bedchamber did not belong together in his estimation.

  But the way things were headed with Eleanor, he was going to face a lifetime of duty done in the dark. And given his passionate nature, and his unwillingness to be unfaithful, it was damned harrowing.

  Lock waggled his brows. “Isn’t it though?”

  Tony sighed, wiping a hand over his face. “Surely, it won’t be so very bad?”

  The silence of his friends wasn’t encouraging.

  He looked from friend to friend. “Surely?”

  Still, he refused to believe his father and Ros would set him into a miserable marriage. They had to believe that some sort of affinity would arise between himself and Eleanor. He had to believe it, too. He could not face a lifetime without love or passion.

  Then, as he took another drink of gin, he knew exactly what he needed to do. He was bloody well going to teach Lady Eleanor how to dance. And he was bloody well going to find a way to scale her wall, the one around her heart, since scaling up to her bedroom had proven so very ineffective. There had been one moment, one moment in which he had seen the deep emotion beneath her facade, her desire for more. And that. That was the thing which gave him hope.

  Lifting his glass, he said with half-mad smile, “To marriage, lads. To marriage.”

  Chapter 10

  As weddings went, the marriage of the Duke of Ayr to Lady Eleanor Paisley was not the oddest that had ever transpired amidst the ton. However, it was still odd.

  It was, for one, the wedding of the year. How could it not be given his new status, raised from what some called the gutter, and her wealth?

  Eleanor had marched down past the packed pews of St. Paul’s, her soft blue silk gown trailing behind her. There’d been no floating. Not from Eleanor. She’d made quick time. Perhaps if she had not, she’d have turned and fled. Some whispered that she was appalled by her husband’s bastardy which was untrue, of course. But people would whisper.

  The Duke of Aston had given her away as she had no close male relative. He had been resplendent in green and gold, and bejeweled as few men were these days.

  The groom?

  The groom had stood with a surprising stiffness but with a hopeful look upon his face as her hand had been placed into his.

  Eleanor had been extremely nervous. More than she ever had been in her life when she placed her fingers in his.

  His firm grasp had assured her despite herself.

  She had never been the subject of so much attention in her entire life. And as they were pronounced man and wife, and they walked back down the long aisle and out to the steps, they were greeted by a cheering crowd.

  The crowd was astonishingly large. People were pressed in very tightly, waving bunting and they all looked absolutely delighted.

  Tony leaned in and whispered, “I provided beer and cakes to the city.”

  Her lips twitched with amusement. It was something her guardian would never have done and she found the act of goodwill touching.

  Suddenly, impulsively, she lifted her gloved hand and waved.

  The action produced a huge cheer and shouts of God Bless the Duchess of Ayr!

  Her husband whisked her down the many stairs and into a gilded coach which might have been fitting for the royal family itself.

  Once they were ensconced in the surprisingly quiet vehicle, she drew in a deep breath and relaxed ever so slightly against the dark blue velvet squabs.

  The coach raced down Fleet Street and, much to her surprise, she realized that countless people lined the road to wave, cheer, and catch a glimpse of them.

  “Why are we so popular?” she asked, agog.

  In all her time as the ward of the Duke of Ayr, she’d never seen him so lauded. Most couldn’t bring themselves to smile at his presence let alone cheer. He’d been a powerful man, but an unkind one who gave not one whit for the people about him. “Besides the beer and cakes,” she added.

  “Hope, I think,” Tony said brightly as he gazed out at the crowd they passed. “They know we’re young. They know we might be different than all those who have passed before.”

  She stared out the gleaming window, watching the joyful faces of everyday Londoners celebrate her wedding to a veritable stranger.

  “You look very beautiful,” he said softly. That rich, rumble of a voice filled the small space.

  Turning to him, she blushed, shocked that she enjoyed his compliment so much. It maddened her that he could evoke such responses in her, but she supposed she couldn’t resist him entirely. She wasn’t cruel. “Thank you.”

  As if he had not been completely rejected the night before, he asked kindly, “How are you feeling?”

  “Feeling?” she echoed, having never been asked such a thing before.

  “Yes,” he teased, his eyes dancing playfully. “Those odd little things that whirl around inside us and cause us to do often mad things.”

  She laughed, shocked to find that his easy company was causing her tension to ebb. It was so kind of him, and she made note of it. “I am acquainted with them.”

  He waggled his brows. “I did hope so.”

  She bit her lower lip, wondering how to explain what was transpiring inside her. “I am full of trepidation but also a sense of a new beginning.”

  “As am I,” he agreed, clearly pleased by her response. “Everything is going to be well.”

  She wondered if he was convincing her, or himself.

  She nibbled her lower lip, a terrible habit she knew. And it was one he seemed quite fixated by. “What shall we do?”

  As he stared at her mouth, he seemed to hesitate. But then he crossed the short distance between them and sat beside her.

  The cushioned seat compressed slightly and she rolled towards him. She grabbed hold of the cushion to keep herself from falling into his lap.

  His abrupt nearness caused her heart to jump, much like it had done the night before. His close presence was. . . It was doin
g the most alarming things to her. His scent wafted around her, and she suddenly had an overwhelming desire to press her face into his shoulder and take it in. She would never do such a thing. Never. Despite the fact that her fingers were bizarrely itching to take ahold of him.

  He might think she did not desire him, but she could not argue with her physical affinity for him. It had always been there and, much to her chagrin, it was growing. Greatly.

  How was she going to cope with the way her skin tingled when he was near? At how every part of her but her mind urged her to inch closer to him?

  He looked down at her, his gaze wandering over her face. “You are a most fascinating woman.”

  “Hardly,” she scoffed lightly. She was practical, efficient, pragmatic. Fascinating? Impossible.

  “You are,” he protested, his head leaning down as he was wont to do to make up for the sharp difference in their heights. “I’ve been acquainted with a great many ladies. You are singular.”

  “I do not know if you should go about saying such a thing,” she chastised lightly. Much to her shock, suddenly, she hated the idea of him being with other ladies. What a foolish thing to think! He owed her nothing. He was hers only in a legal sense now.

  “Which?” he bantered, apparently unwilling to be censured. “That I’ve known many ladies or that you are singular?”

  To her shock, she laughed again. “The former.”

  “But both things are true,” he insisted. “You know it is and I see no reason to lie. I’m not ashamed. I never did anything to regret.”

  “That is very fortunate.”

  He brushed his gloved hand over hers. “You are singular, Eleanor. I hope you, too, will see it. And I know that you resist the idea of growing familiar, but I think it is necessary for us.”

  She tensed. Familiar. What exactly did that require? Were they to converse over toast every morning? Share their thoughts? Be friends? It seemed almost impossible despite his affability. She no longer knew how to be close to people. It was too frightening. After all, everyone she was close to. . . Inevitably left her. “Then we will try.”

  “That is a relief,” he intoned deeply. “I hate eating dinner in silence.”

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked, wondering if he were serious or teasing and wondering if he had somehow read her thoughts.

  “Haven’t you seen those miserable married couples?” he asked, his face shining with mock horror. “They’re always going about, quiet, with nothing to say to each other.” He shuddered. “I cannot imagine something more unbearable than to go through life barely tolerating my spouse.”

  It hit her then, that her husband was a man who enjoyed conversation. No, not just conversation. Anthony Burke, Duke of Ayr, enjoyed life and all that it had to offer. He thrived in society because he had not allowed his heart to close to the world.

  How on earth would she keep him entertained when he was used to the wittiest and most vital people? Many women would not have cared once they had achieved their coronet if their husband liked them or not. Did she want him to like her? She swallowed. Yes. Yes, she did. Even if she had planned to resist his closeness. Surely, she could find a way to be affable without anything more?

  “I know last night was a terrible failure, but I would still like to kiss you,” he said suddenly, “if you have, by chance, become accustomed to the idea.”

  Those words jolted through her and she nearly jumped away from him. There it was again. His attempt at intimacy. Of course, they would be intimate. They were married. Yet, she could not grow easy with the idea of giving in to her desires with him. She was terrified that if she did, there would be no going back.

  He sighed at her response again and he looked to the window.

  “Ayr,” she began.

  He shook his head.

  “We hardly know each other,” she decided to say. She felt it was her best argument for her odd behavior towards him.

  “You find me unappealing,” he said without self-sorrow. But then his voice tightened. “Please don’t lie.”

  “I am not lying,” she bit out. “I. . . I am wary of allowing myself to be easy with you but it is not because I do not wish your kiss.” She licked her lips. “I do desire it. . . I do. . . Desire you.”

  His gaze turned hot then, curious.

  “Is that what you wish then? For us to know each other first?” His tense shoulders eased and he said kindly, “I think I should like winning you.”

  “I am already won,” she pointed out dryly, gesturing to the ring upon her finger.

  “No,” he said, a low, soft growl. “You are not.”

  The wickedness of that sound hummed through the coach and she could barely countenance the way her entire body warmed to it.

  “Tell me what you want,” he urged again.

  There it was again. He was asking what she wanted and she could scarcely reply. No one had ever asked her that before. Not really and it was heady, indeed.

  Fear thundered through her, fear at what she had to say. Securing her trembling hands, she swallowed and sat a little straighter.

  “Ayr, I think it’s important we consummate our marriage and quickly. But I also wish you to understand it will take me time to be accustomed to allowing a closeness between us.”

  His brows quirked, his gaze searching over her face, looking for any hint of a deeper meaning. “That is all it is then?”

  “Yes,” she forced herself to profess with as much firmness as she could muster. She wasn’t prepared to expose the pain in her heart and how difficult it was to attempt to allow another into her bed when it had been meant for someone else. Or that she feared losing control of herself or that he might come to care for her. “We will find a way to a successful marriage. I am determined in this.” She blushed, and her tongue tangled as she continued, “I-I understand what will happen tonight. It has been explained to me in greater detail than I previously understood.”

  “Has it, by God?” he asked. “Well, I’m glad someone took the time to do so. I’ve always thought it very cruel, sending young ladies completely ignorant to their new husbands.”

  She gaped at him. “You are the strangest man.”

  “Why?” he demanded with surprising force, twisting towards her which caused his chiseled arm to brush her shoulder. “Because I think women should be educated and able to speak for themselves?”

  That mere touch nearly froze her in her seat. Much like when their fingers had touched on their meeting just the other day, that simple touch was hypnotic. How did he do that to her?

  “Yes,” she breathed. “Most dunna feel that way, you know?”

  He laughed then, but it was a half-groan. “I take your point. I suppose many men do prefer biddable women.”

  “There is a reason that ladies are property,” she said, thinking of her fortune which she could not touch. . . Which was now his. She arched a brow. “And it isna the ladies.”

  He laughed again. Only this time, there was no hint of amusement in it. “You’re correct, of course. Do you mind terribly, as the law of the land states, being my property?”

  She cocked her head to the side. “You said I had no lord and master,” she replied teasingly.

  “And you don’t, not in my mind,” he said quickly.

  She smiled up at him, still unable to make him out or understand what turn her life had taken. So, she simply replied, “We shall have to see.”

  *

  Tony headed into the wedding breakfast, feeling surprisingly out of sorts. For one, the carriage ride had gone remarkably better than his foray last evening which, in hindsight, given Eleanor’s personality, had been a mistake. He would have to rethink any advice given when brandy was consumed. But he still felt completely at sea with her, despite his attempts at confidence.

  In fact, he felt that, at any given moment, he might go down a wrong route and scuttle his marriage for all time. It was a most interesting and harrowing place to be in.

  “It’s the drink,” El
lesmere informed him wryly. “You’re ill feeling. I told you about the gin.”

  “I am not ill,” Tony informed the man, scowling. In fact, he felt quite fine. Years of drinking with sailors had conditioned him to the grain.

  He drew in a deep breath, savoring the corner of the salon and a moment’s respite from being entirely on view, something he usually quite enjoyed. But he also did not usually feel as if the ground were being yanked out from underneath him. “But I am damned confused.”

  “Of course you are.” Ellesmere grinned unapologetically. “You just got married.”

  Tony gave his friend a ball-crushing stare. “I’ve never thought a woman to be beyond my understanding. But she is like a sphinx. I’ve no idea which way to go with her.”

  Ellesmere tsked. “You’ve always been a master with the ladies.”

  Tony snorted, eyeing his beautiful wife who stood in a sea of well-wishers, the most stunning woman in the room. “Not this one. There is no map, no key, no book of advisement. This is terra incognita.”

  Ellesmere started to laugh.

  “Why are you laughing?” Tony demanded, indignant. “There is no humor to be had. My wife is. . .”

  Ellesmere’s brows rose ever so slightly clearly enjoying his friend’s unusual state. “Yes?”

  He looked away. He’d never been ashamed of his past before. There was nothing to be ashamed of. But it was certainly making his new marriage most interesting. “She’s as innocent as the driven snow and thinks I’m an absolute philanderer.”

  Ellesmere clapped him on the back. “You are.”

  “I am not!” he fairly roared, garnering a few glances from the nearby guests milling about the table covered in the richest foods to be found. He forced himself to quiet. “I simply have enjoyed ladies. But, you know, I’ve always understood them.”

  Ellesmere laughed again.

  Tony groaned, wishing he could pop his friend in the face, but knowing that would not be the best way to start his new marriage. “Why are you doing that?”

  Ellesmere peered at him as if he’d lost his wits. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”