Her Favorite Duke

by Jess Michaels

  Tears filled her eyes. “Why? Must you be determined to destroy yourself?”

  He was silent for what felt like forever and then he said, “I have destroyed everyone else, Margaret. Why shouldn’t I also burn in this fire I created?”

  He said nothing else, nor did he wait for her reply. He just turned away because he could no longer hide from her. And what he had to show was nothing short of monstrous.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Simon stared straight ahead as his mount clopped along the road. Less than forty-eight hours after his wedding, and he, his mother and the Abernathe family were all headed back to London and the uncertainty of what would face them there. Behind him, the carriages rumbled and he did his level best not to look back.

  He could have been riding with his wife, but he had elected to travel on his horse instead. He had expected Meg to argue, but her crumpled face and soft acquiescence had been harder to take than if she had asked him flatly to join her.

  “Are we going to talk about anything?”

  Simon stiffened as James trotted his horse up next to him and fell into step. There was no avoiding this, it seemed. Perhaps it was better to simply deal with it now and have it done with.

  “I’m surprised it’s taken you so long to ask me,” Simon said, keeping his eyes on the road rather than dare look at his friend of over a decade.

  James shrugged. “I was waiting so that you would have an opportunity to talk to me. Or better yet, her.”

  Her. There was no doubt the her James referred to. Simon forced himself to look at James. “I talk to her.”

  James rolled his eyes. “Please don’t sport with whatever small level of intelligence I have, Simon. I have eyes and I can see what you’re doing.”

  Simon clenched his jaw and tried to keep his tone calm and unbothered. “And what is it you see?”

  “You’re avoiding her. Even if I didn’t know you two slept in separate chambers last night, I would be able to see it from the way you act in public.”

  Simon flinched. The separate chambers hadn’t actually been his idea. He had waited for his wife to join him last night in the room they’d shared after their wedding. She had never come. At last he had gone to look for her and found her in her own bedroom, asleep, tracks of tears on her cheeks in the firelight.

  Self-hatred burned within him at that memory.

  “I-I don’t want to talk to you about that,” Simon said.

  James jerked his face toward him. “And nor do I wish to discuss my sister’s habits with her husband, but I am left with little choice. Meg’s future and her happiness are important to me. As are yours.”

  Simon caught his breath as he turned in his seat to look at James. There was nothing false to his friend’s expression. He looked frustrated, perhaps even angry, but he didn’t hate Simon, even though that was exactly what he deserved.

  “Mine shouldn’t be,” he said softly.

  James’s jaw tightened. “So you insist on punishing yourself?” he asked.

  “I deserve to be punished.”

  “And you will punish Meg in the process,” James snapped. “Damn it all to hell, Simon, haven’t you destroyed enough?”

  Simon returned his attention to a spot on the horizon.

  James sighed. “Look, you want to hate yourself, fine. You want to destroy your relationship with me, apparently I can’t stop you. But I swear to God, if you destroy Meg…” He reached and out and grabbed Simon’s shoulder, making him look at him. “There will be hell to pay, Crestwood.”

  Without breaking their intense stare, James lifted his fist to indicate the train of vehicles and animals should stop. As everyone did so, he swung down from the horse.

  “I’m going to ride inside with my wife and my sister for a while,” he said, “to afford you the opportunity to think about what I’ve said. I suggest you do so, Simon. I understand why worthiness is such a challenge for you. I knew your father, I’ve spent time with your mother. I even understand why you hate yourself for Graham. But you are on the precipice of making a terrible mistake. One that you will not come back from. Think hard about what you want to do or you’ll find yourself losing everything.”

  When Simon said nothing, James walked away, tossing the reins of the horse to a footman who had scurried from the top of the carriage and would now ride the horse for a while. Simon knew his friend was right.

  He just wasn’t certain how he could accept the future that had been given to him and atone for the past all at the same time. Until he figured that out, he couldn’t be a husband to Meg or a friend to James. He certainly couldn’t be a friend to himself.

  So he was left to his own mind, which was currently a very dangerous place to be.

  Meg stepped into the foyer at her new home in London and drew a deep breath as she faced a line of smiling servants, ready to greet her. Of course she knew some of them already. She had come to Simon’s townhouse so many times over the years, accompanying James when he called. She had all but memorized the rooms. She knew what chair was Simon’s favorite, she knew how he always arranged his desk just so.

  “Welcome, Your Grace,” the butler, Finley, said as he stepped forward to take her wrap and Simon’s hat and gloves. “We are so pleased to have you home.”

  She smiled as she was introduced along the line to the rest of the staff. All seemed genuine in their greetings and none reflected any hint that they might have heard gossip about their new mistress. Of course, she knew they had. Something so big as the compromising position she and Simon had found themselves in would ripple not just through her world, but the worlds of servant and merchant alike.

  Which did not help her with Simon in the slightest. It was partly why he withdrew from her. Him and his damned penance.

  “Your Grace, I know you and the duchess had supper at the Duke of Abernathe’s after your arrival in London,” Finley was saying as the other servants drifted away back to their duties. “But may we provide any dessert or drinks?”

  Simon glanced at her and she shook her head slightly. He smiled at the butler. “Thank you, Finley. As much as we appreciate the offer—and I know Mrs. Giles would likely whip up something very tempting if we asked—I think Her Grace and I are simply too tired from travel to partake tonight.”

  Finley nodded. “I understand, sir. Of course, ring if anything changes. Otherwise, your chamber is prepared.”

  Simon lifted his brows and Meg felt there was some kind of silent communication going between the men. “Fully prepared?” he asked.

  Finley smiled again. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Good man, thank you,” Simon said, nodding once more as the butler bowed his goodnights and left them alone.

  Simon offered her an arm. “Let me show you to our chamber.”

  Meg shivered as she touched him. Their chamber. Actually, his room was one of the few in this house she had never seen. She wondered what it would look like, as well as the duchess chamber that would be adjacent.

  She didn’t have to wait long to find out. He guided her up the stairs and to the end of a long hallway. It was the last room where he drew her through elaborately carved double doors. She entered into an antechamber that was entirely masculine and very Simon. It had gray walls with stark white accents and a large fireplace where two chairs faced the bright flames. She tilted her head as she stared at one of them, a sunny yellow armchair that looked very familiar and very out of place in his space.

  “Is that…is that my chair from my room at my mother’s home?” she asked, spinning on him briefly before she moved over to look at the piece.

  He smiled. “Yes.”

  She jerked her face toward him. “What in the world is it doing here?”

  “Well, I spoke to your maid and asked her what needed to be arranged to be brought from the house to make your more comfortable here. She mentioned how much you enjoyed reading in your favorite chair, so when I wrote to my servants to make the arrangemen
ts for our return, I asked that it be fetched. James and your mother agreed, and here it is.”

  Her lips parted, and she stared at the chair and back at him. “You did this for me?”

  Discomfort crossed his expression. “Yes,” he said softly.

  She moved to him, but he took a step back and motioned his hand toward one of the closed doors on either side of the antechamber. “Come, I’ll show you your room.”

  She swallowed hard, moved by his kindness, frustrated by his withdrawal. “Very well.”

  He opened the door and allowed her to pass through first. She caught her breath as she did so. The room, which she had expected to be stark and plain after years of no use, was instead bright, sunny and painted in her favorite shade of welcoming yellow. Flowers sat on the table before a mirror, but they were not just any flowers. They were lady’s glove, a purple bell flower that she had always adored. Amongst their buds were arrays of sweet honeysuckle, so the room had a warm and welcoming scent.

  “You—this cannot be how the room was before I came,” she said. “Because these are all my favorite things.”

  He nodded. “As I said, given the circumstances, I wanted to do all I could to make you comfortable. Happy.”

  She stepped to him again and this time he remained in place, even though she saw his gaze slide toward the door. She caught his hands before he could manage some kind of escape.

  “Thank you,” she whispered as she lifted up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

  He groaned and his arms came around her, crushing her to his chest as he drove his tongue into her mouth. She felt his desire, but also his desperation as he pushed her back into the room and up against the edge of the bed. His hips ground into hers and the hard ridge of him pressed into her belly, lighting a fire in her that only he could quench.

  Though as much as she wanted this, the fact that it was the only thing he would give her freely was still troubling. As if he sensed her thoughts, he tore his mouth away and stepped back, hands shaking.

  “I’m sorry,” he panted.

  “Why?” she asked, straightening and smoothing her wrinkled gown.

  He shook his head. “It was a long day of travel. I know you’re tired and I should not—”

  “I’m not made of glass, Simon,” she said softly. “And the only thing we have truly established in this marriage thus far is how compatible we are when it comes to sex.”

  His eyes went wide at how blunt she was.

  She shrugged. “Don’t look so surprised. I can say what I see as easily as anyone else. You want me. I want you.”

  “You’re a lady and—”

  “I’m your wife. And I have needs that you fulfill. As I hope I fulfill yours,” she said, her mind spinning back to what James had said about Simon’s proclivities weeks ago. She still wasn’t certain what to think of that bawdy past she was not meant to know about.

  He turned away. “There were no invitations waiting for you, Meg.”

  She wrinkled her brow at his change of subject. It only served to heighten her uncertainty about satisfying him. But she wasn’t ready to address that just yet.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked. “We didn’t ask Finley if anyone had left anything for me.”

  He looked at her slowly. “Finley is as predictable as the sunrise each morning. Whenever I return home, he presents me with my invitations and correspondence immediately. If he didn’t do so, that means there was none.”

  She shrugged. “We have only just returned and—”

  “You are not invited to events because of me,” he interrupted, his voice suddenly strained. “Because of what I did.”

  She pursed her lips, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “Because of us,” she corrected sharply. “And what we did. You can try to pretend otherwise, but there were two of us in that cabin that night, Simon. And I was the one who ran off into the woods rather than deal head-on with the fact that I didn’t want to marry Graham. I am just as much to blame for anything that happened as a result of my reckless behavior.”

  “You would not have taken off your clothes and spent the night in the cabin with me had I not suggested it,” he said, folding his arms.

  “And I would have likely frozen to death as I tried to walk home,” she countered. “Would that have been a better solution?”

  He flinched, and she saw the flash of pain and horror on his face at the idea. “No. No, of course not.”

  “This is not only your responsibility.”

  He was silent for a moment, and she prayed he was absorbing her statement. Perhaps even open to believing it.

  But then he shook his head. “You say that now, Meg. But someday you will recall how much you liked being popular. And you’ll hate me as much as he does for destroying your future.”

  He turned away then and left her, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click that felt like a gunshot through her breaking heart. She spun away, fighting to draw breath, and stomped her foot.

  “You are my future, you great buffoon,” she said.

  She covered her face with both hands. Here she had everything she’d ever wanted. Marriage to the man she loved, a home, a room that was perfect, but it was all empty. Empty because she had no idea how to shake Simon awake and force him out of his fog of guilt and self-punishment.

  And she feared her time to do so was running out.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Meg tried to keep her chin up and a smile on her face as she stood in her brother’s home the next day, but as Emma entered the parlor, all the bravery she’d been trying to portray collapsed under its own weight. As her lip began to tremble and her eyes filled with tears, Emma raced across the room to her.

  “Oh, dearest, dearest,” Emma cooed, taking her to the settee and waving off the servant who had come to inquire about tea. “There, there.”

  Meg buried her head in Emma’s shoulder as great shuddering breaths racked her. “I’m sorry,” she murmured at last, drawing away from her friend’s embrace. “I should not have called when I am in such a state.”

  “Because you are in such a state, that is when you must call!” Emma argued. “I want to see you, to help you. You’ve been very brave in these past few weeks. You have earned a good cry and a place to be entirely honest. Now tell me.”

  Meg met her eyes. “Oh, Emma, we’ve talked about this before, I know, but I am at such a loss. I have dreamed almost my whole life of marrying Simon. Even when I was engaged to Graham and pretending to plan my life with him, I dreamed of Simon. It was wrong, I know, but utterly true. I have loved him since I was fifteen!”

  Emma’s expression softened. “I thought as much, even if you didn’t say the specific words.”

  “But he is resistant to anything beyond what we share in his bed,” Meg continued. “I’m sorry to be so blunt, but that is the heart of it.”

  Emma’s cheeks had flamed, but she didn’t look offended as she said, “I see. So he makes love to you but will not connect with you outside that realm.”

  “And it is utterly confusing,” Meg said, rising to her feet and pacing the parlor restlessly. “When we are together…physically…it is wonderful. I feel all his passion for me, his desire, I feel that he cares. And I always wish, hope that when it’s over he’ll allow the connection to continue.”

  “But he pulls away,” Emma said, a frown drawing down her lips.

  Meg nodded. “He pulls away physically, but also he throws walls up between us.” She stopped pacing and faced Emma. “I-I know that it is his guilt over the betrayal of Graham that causes some of it. But I’m beginning to wonder if there is…more to it.”

  “More?” Emma asked. “What more could it be?”

  Now it was Meg who felt heat rushing to her cheeks. She moved to the door and shut it. She leaned against it and said, “The day James found us in the cottage…God, it feels like a lifetime ago…he and Simon were arguing, and he said something
. He—he said that the reason he picked Graham for the betrothal to me was that Simon was whoring around London at the time. And he and the Duke of Roseford were, er, sharing women.”

  Emma’s eyes bugged wide and her mouth opened and shut a few times. “Oh. My. I-I-oh…”

  Meg nodded. “Yes, my response exactly. I’m not even certain how that would work.”

  Emma tilted her head to the side. “I suppose one of the men could be taking her while she sucked…you know, it doesn’t matter. It seems like they were talking about something that happened a long time ago. As titillating an idea as it is, what does it have to do with you?”

  “What if I’m not enough?” Meg whispered. “What if all his rejection, which he says is because of Graham, is really because he needs me to be more than what I am, than what I could ever be?”

  Emma got up and moved to her, catching her hands. “Meg, you are enough. James occasionally makes noises about the trouble Roseford continues to get himself into around Town, but to be truthful, he has never said anything about Simon. If he was once less than prudent with the lovers he chose, if he was doing something wild, the time has passed for that. I don’t believe for a moment that his problem is you not satisfying him. If you didn’t, why would he have pursued you for sex the moment the engagement was announced? If he didn’t want you, he would have waited.”

  Meg nodded slowly. “I suppose so. And I suppose when I think of the way he touches me, the way he kisses me, I know he does want me, even if he once desired something far more outrageous than I’m able to provide. But it doesn’t make me feel better, because he still pulls away. He still refuses to have a true marriage or life with me. So what do I do, Emma?”

  Emma stared at her a moment and a light came into her face that Meg had never seen before. Normally Emma was sweet, gentle, but there was a warrior fire in her expression as she grabbed Meg’s upper arms and held tight.

  “Fight!” Emma said with a little shake to Meg’s shoulders.