The Unclaimed Duchess

by Jenna Petersen

  She tilted her head, but didn’t deny his statement. She moved forward and touched his cheek once more, offering him that comfort and love he hadn’t earned.

  “You may not wish to admit it, but I’ve seen you change since we wed,” she whispered. “For the better. And I believe you have the capability to change even more. I see so much decency in you, goodness you haven’t yet allowed yourself to feel or offer because you’ve been so heavily influenced by rank. Now that you are free of it, think of what you could become! Think of what good you could do with the power you feel you don’t deserve. You could earn it.”

  Rhys stared at her. There was no hesitation in her eyes or in her voice when she spoke of his potential. But how could she be so certain of his character when he didn’t even know his identity anymore?

  “You are blinded. Perhaps by the love I’m not worthy of.”

  She sucked in a breath at that statement. “Don’t say that.”

  “Anne, your dreams sound wonderful on the surface, but they are just dreams. You must see now why we cannot be together. If I let you go many will empathize with you and gift you the friendship you have offered them again and again. You’ll be damaged, but I don’t think you would lose their acceptance. You could have a life—even…even the company of another man someday.”

  He swallowed hard against the bile that rose in his throat at that idea. Anne deserved the happiness a lover could provide. But every time he thought of another man touching her, holding her, it gave Rhys such a visceral reaction that he could scarce control himself. He wanted to break things, hit things, hurt anyone who dared to claim what was his.

  Anne hadn’t yet responded to his statement. She stared at him, lips parted. But finally she lifted her hand to cover his fingers, which still lingered on her cheek.

  “I have a lover,” she said softly. “I want no one but my husband and I never will.”

  He wasn’t given the chance to argue. She lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed him. He tasted her anguish mixed in with her desire and of course her love, always that running undercurrent of her love for him that seemed to color his entire world. It made him want so much more than he could give and it made him pull her closer and kiss her with all the passion and heartache that tormented him. She relieved the ache, if only for a moment, and he selfishly allowed that.

  Finally she pulled back, breath coming in short bursts as she stared up at him.

  “No matter what you say or how you reason, you can’t make me accept this,” she whispered. He tensed and tried to pull away, but she held fast. “I do not accept it.”

  He cupped her cheeks, tilting her face up. He wished he could allow her what she desired, but it was folly. “Anne, in my life I’ve been wrong in so many ways. But this may be the first selfless thing I’ve ever wished to do. Please don’t take it from me.”

  She moaned out a great sound of pain before she tilted her head forward. He did the same, and their foreheads touched. She rested there for some time before she spoke again.

  “Must we resolve this tonight, Rhys?”

  He hesitated. Every additional moment he spent with her would only add to the eventual torment when they parted, on both their sides. But, God, it was tempting.

  “No,” he whispered, loving the soft touch of her breath on his skin as they stood so close. “We have a few days more before my hand will be forced by the arrival of this man who is intent on blackmail and perhaps ruination.”

  She sighed. “Then let us wait to argue it out until then.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she spoke first. “Please.”

  He pulled back to look down at her. Then he nodded as he took her hand and brought her to the bed. Wordlessly they lay down, arms around each other, bodies touching. And as he kissed her, he prayed that somehow this would get easier.

  And knew it wouldn’t.

  Chapter 17 Morning sunshine flooded the bright and airy breakfast room, and for that Anne was happy. Life had been so dark and complicated as of late, at least she could take some solace in the weather. If there was sun, there was hope, and she clung to that hope with everything in her being.

  While she was pouring tea from the service, Rhys entered the room. As their eyes met, time seemed to stop entirely and a world of unspoken communication and emotion flowed between them.

  Last night everything had changed. The shift that had begun in the countryside had been completed when he finally confided his deepest secret and most devastating pain to her. She’d felt like his wife, perhaps for the first time.

  She prayed it wouldn’t be the last.

  “Good morning,” he said as he slid his gaze away and entered the chamber.

  “Hello,” she responded, as shy and awkward as she had felt after their wedding night. “Would you like tea?”

  He nodded as she held up the cup she had poured. Carefully she added milk and honey and handed it over. Once he had taken the brew, she dared to lift up and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

  “Good morning,” she whispered.

  For a moment Rhys didn’t respond, but then he smiled. A real smile, one of the few she had ever seen grace his face. When he did so, the expression changed him. He seemed younger and less severe. All her hopes for his goodness and ability to love and be loved seemed attainable when he did.

  Unaware of her deeper thoughts, he took a spot at the head of the table and looked down at the small pile of correspondence awaiting him.

  She poured another cup of tea for herself and took a place at his right. It was odd how normal the situation felt, considering how out of control their current circumstances actually were. And yet here they sat, sharing tea and eventually breakfast like they were just another couple on just another morning. And if she could have this, even briefly, it was worth clinging to.

  “Any interesting correspondence?” she asked as she sipped her tea.

  He shook his head. “Not really. You might be surprised”—he lifted his gaze and shot her another quick grin—“or perhaps you might not, at how benign and boring the everyday workings of my position are. These are mostly updates on the various estates under my control, including questions about changes the managers would like to make to the way things are run or to the staff we have on hand.”

  “I never realized you were so involved in such things,” she said as she wrinkled her brow.

  He shrugged. “I’m responsible for the lives of a great many people.” Suddenly a shadow passed over his face. “I wonder if they’ll suffer for this scandal as well.”

  Anne swallowed past the tea that seemed to block her throat. For a moment Rhys had appeared to forget his troubles, but there they were, back again.

  He shook away the emotion and continued, though now he spoke more slowly and his eyes remained distant. “At any rate, there are also a few matters to do with the House of Lords and some club functions.” He tossed the majority of the pile aside. “Nothing that can’t be dealt with later.”

  He tilted his head as his last statement trailed off. He looked at one letter that now peeked out from the bottom of the pile. “What is this?”

  Anne craned her neck to see what he was looking at.

  He pulled the missive free and turned it over to open it. “A message in my mother’s hand. Damn, she must have been concerned about our disappearance.”

  Anne set her cup down. She’d never mentioned the worried letter from Rhys’s mother that she had received the previous day, but before she could say anything he was on his feet.

  “Great God, she says she is coming here this—”

  He hadn’t finished the sentence when Gilmour stepped into the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt your meal, my lord, my lady, but the dowager duchess has arrived. She seeks an audience with you both.”

  “—morning,” Rhys finished his initial statement as he stared at Gilmour intently.

  If the butler was concerned by this, he gave no indication, but simply waited patiently at the doorway for further instruction. Anne pushed
to her feet. Since Rhys seemed incapable of giving orders at present, the duty fell to her.

  “Will you give us a moment, Gilmour? Perhaps show Her Grace to the Rose Terrace. She’s always liked the view there. And be sure to bring tea and some breakfast outside for us. The tables are already in place, are they not?”

  “They are, Your Grace. I shall do so.” The servant didn’t hesitate at her order, but bowed slightly and exited the room.

  “I’m sorry,” Anne said once he had departed and they were alone again. “I did receive a message from your mother amongst the other correspondence yesterday when we returned from the country.”

  “And you didn’t answer it?” Rhys asked, turning on her swiftly. “You didn’t feel it important enough to share with me?”

  Anne arched a brow, both understanding his peevishness and annoyed by it.

  “You know,” she said softly, past gritted teeth, “I was a little distracted by a wide variety of things yesterday.”

  The upset that lined Rhys’s face slowly faded and he shook his head. “Of course you were. I apologize, Anne. I shouldn’t have taken that tone with you.”

  Anne drew back. There were very few times she’d ever heard Rhys apologize and this one sounded very genuine, even easy. It seemed he was changing indeed.

  “It’s quite all right,” she said, moving toward him. “You didn’t expect her arrival and this is the first time you’ll see her since you heard…” She trailed off, not wanting to speak out loud the thing that had hurt him so much.

  He nodded in response. “Yes. But perhaps it’s best, after all. This conversation was bound to happen, today is as good a day as any for me to confront her.”

  Anne hesitated, but then moved forward. Gently she slipped her arms around him and held him. For a moment he retained his stiff posture, but then he returned her embrace, holding her against his body and burying his face into her hair.

  “You know I’m very fond of your mother and I’d like to say hello to her,” Anne said as they parted. “But then should I excuse myself? Would you like to discuss this delicate matter with her in privacy?”

  Rhys looked at her carefully. For a moment she thought he might ban her from the exchange entirely, but then he reached out and took her hand. His fingers tangled in hers and he lifted them to cover his heart.

  “No. Please stay. It would…help me, I think, to have you there.”

  She sucked in a breath of surprise and happiness. Twice in as many days, Rhys had requested her assistance and admitted he needed her presence, not pushed aside her attempts at comfort as he had done so many times before. It meant more to her than anything to have him allow her to aid him, even in the smallest way.

  “Of course I’ll stay,” she whispered as he led her from the room and down the hallway toward the Rose Room and its attached terrace.

  The doors to the balcony were thrown open and the heady scent of blooming flowers greeted them even before they stepped outside. Rhys hesitated slightly at the threshold, glancing to Anne.

  “It will be well,” she whispered, though she realized that what she had just said might not be true.

  But it seemed to be what he needed to hear, for he released her hand and stepped outside into the bright sunshine to greet his mother.

  The dowager duchess stood staring out over the garden below, but she turned as the two came outside and smiled her greeting.

  Anne had always thought her mother-in-law was a beautiful woman, with dark hair and eyes that matched her son’s in their rich, brown color. But now that Anne knew the truth about Rhys’s parentage, she found herself looking more closely at the dowager and seeing even more traits Rhys shared with her.

  That was probably how she had kept up her ruse for so long. Rhys looked so much like his mother that the duke hadn’t questioned why his son resembled him so little.

  The dowager came across the terrace, both hands extended. Anne held her breath as the mother and son met. Rhys was so tightly wound, she had no idea what he would do or say. After everything he’d endured in the past few weeks, Anne feared he might simply launch into a tirade against the woman who had raised him.

  Instead he took his mother’s hands and allowed her to press a kiss of greeting against each cheek.

  “Good Lord, Rhys, I must admit I was worried about you,” Her Ladyship said as she released her son and turned toward Anne to kiss her cheek once. “When Anne came to me and told me she didn’t know your whereabouts, it frightened me.”

  Rhys’s lips pursed. “It was a misunderstanding, Mother. But Anne…” He turned toward her with a slight smile. “Well, she found me.”

  Anne returned the smile before she motioned to a round metal table with matching chairs that was across the terrace. A tea service sat on its top.

  “Shall we sit? I see the servants have already brought refreshment for us,” she said, bound to keep up polite appearances if only because it gave her something to do as she awaited the confrontation surely to come.

  Rhys’s mother kept her eyes trained on her son for a long moment, then nodded. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

  As they moved to the table, Anne kept her worried gaze on her husband. He was controlling his emotions with the same efficiency as ever before, but as he pulled the chair out for his mother, she felt the tension coursing through him. She saw it in the way he held his body. After she seated herself, he took his place between the two women.

  “I’m glad you’re back. It isn’t like you to disappear with no word,” his mother pressed.

  A muscle in Rhys’s jaw twitched and Anne steeled herself for the floodgate of anger about to be opened. But he was quiet as he said, “I’m not sure what is ‘like’ me at all anymore.”

  Anne flinched at the rawness in his tone, and without thinking she reached out to cover his hand. For moment he simply stared, but then he smiled at her.

  His mother also looked at their intertwined fingers and seemed surprised by their open display of affection. But she managed to tear her gaze away to address her son.

  “I’m not certain I know what you mean by that statement.”

  Rhys looked at her, his face so sad and broken that Anne could have wept for him. Whatever ability he possessed to make himself the cold and distant duke, it was fading with every moment, leaving only the man inside. Only Rhys with his broken heart.

  “Were you ever going to tell me?” he whispered, surprisingly soft.

  The dowager’s eyes widened and the blood slowly drained from her face. Anne was shocked by her expression. It was almost as if she had guessed what Rhys knew even before he said it. As if she had been waiting for this moment, perhaps for his entire life. And maybe she had.

  Anne could hardly imagine the strain of waiting for that particular axe to fall. Despite the circumstances, she felt for her mother-in-law.

  “I-I don’t know what you mean,” the dowager said as she absently fiddled with the edge of her cup. “What is it that troubles you, Rhys?”

  He shut his eyes for a long moment. Anne felt the struggle within him to keep some kind of decorum.

  Finally his eyes opened and he said, “I know about you and the Duke of Billingham, Mother. I know he was my real father.”

  When his beloved mother’s face crumpled with utter devastation, it was quite possibly the worst thing Rhys had ever seen. It broke his already aching heart and torn spirit in a new way. But to his surprise, having Anne’s hand in his actually helped. Although it was foolish, with her at his side he felt like he had a partner in this tragedy.

  His mother got to her feet with a jerking motion that rattled the table and sloshed tea from her cup across the white metal top. Rhys shoved his own chair back to assist her, but she lifted her hand to stay his motion. Trembling, she slowly walked away to stand at the terrace wall and stare down at the garden below.

  There was silence for so long that he lost track of how many seconds had passed, how many moments. Finally his mother turned toward him. Her as
hen face was lined with determination and, to his surprise, almost relief.

  “How did you find out?” she whispered.

  Although Rhys had been certain of the truth almost from the first moment Simon revealed it, even though he had read every piece of evidence he possessed and found it to be solid, hearing his mother ask that question made his heart sink and his stomach turn. Some small part of him had held out a slender reed of hope that when he confronted her, she would deny the truth. That she would slap him or rail at him for the outrage of the accusation. And that she would give him a rational explanation for everything he had been told.

  Now that final line of hope was broken and he drifted away on the finality of the truth.

  “Simon,” he said, his voice cracking as he answered her question.

  His mother drew in a sharp breath and lifted her hand to her heart. Tears filled her eyes.

  “Dear Simon,” she whispered. “So he knows the truth about his father, at last?”

  Rhys could hardly find the words, so he instead nodded once. His mother shook her head slowly.

  “That is most unfortunate. That boy loved his father so deeply, he had much faith in him. A child shouldn’t be so disillusioned by a parent. I hope he’s well.”

  Rhys pushed to his feet and moved toward her at last. He could scarcely believe what he was hearing. In this moment his mother was concerned over the well-being of her lover’s other son?

  “He’s had quite a shock,” he admitted, his tone as tense and emotional as he now felt. His voice elevated, almost of its own accord. “I can fully understand his feelings as I’ve had a great one of my own. Would you care to inquire after my welfare, madam?”

  Behind him, he heard the screech as Anne pushed back her chair. She moved to his side and took his arm.

  “Rhys,” she said softly. “Please.”

  He frowned, hating himself as his mother’s face crumpled even further. He did deserve answers, but his mother deserved better as well.