‘Did you tell them?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
The knot in her stomach loosened, just a little. She wasn’t too late. If only—
‘I want to talk to you. Please.’
‘But I know what you are going to say and it will make no difference. Besides, we cannot stand here much longer without attracting all sorts of the wrong attention.’
‘Please?’
He tipped his head back and stared up at the house. ‘Stay there and keep quiet.’
He disappeared from her sight and she heard the sound of a key in a lock followed by the murmur of masculine voices and the quiet sound of a door closing. She waited...and she had just begun to think he had abandoned her there as a joke or a punishment when the door opened, spilling light on to the pavement.
‘Be quick.’
Liberty ran up the remaining steps and in through the front door as quickly as she could. Contrary to what Dominic thought, she really did have no desire to be seen dressed in men’s clothing and loitering outside his door. It had taken all her courage to come here, but she had come nevertheless—scurrying through the streets with her head down—because she simply couldn’t bear the thought of the future that awaited him. She’d come prepared for a lengthy wait—not knowing what time he might arrive home—and had almost cried with relief when she had seen him turn the corner into his street.
Dominic ushered her into a very masculine, but comfortable sitting room. A fire blazed in the hearth. A cold repast was laid out on a side table next to a silver salver with two glasses and a full decanter. The door closed behind Liberty with a soft click and she wheeled around to face Dominic.
Chapter Seventeen
Liberty’s heart tumbled in her chest, her breathing quickened and her pulse leapt, heat flushing her skin.
Dear heavens, he is gorgeous. If only...
She batted away that errant thought. There were no ‘if onlys’. She clung tight to that knowledge. She would not fool herself...she loved Dominic. And she knew he...what? He liked her, certainly. They were friends. They enjoyed one another’s company, they made one another laugh. But she also knew that caring for him...loving him...meant wanting what was best for him. And that was not to burden him with a wife who was so far removed from his ideal that she might as well be a duck.
This was not about persuading him to throw away the principles he held dear and to marry her regardless. It was about persuading him he deserved to find a suitable lady for his wife who would make him happy.
‘Do take off that preposterous hat, Berty,’ Dominic drawled as he crossed to the table and poured two glasses of wine.
She removed it with relief. Her ears were already sore from the brim chafing them. Dominic handed her the glass and gestured to the fire, bracketed by a pair of green-leather wing-back chairs. Liberty sat and sipped her wine.
‘Let me have it, then, Berty.’
Dominic moved to stand in front of her, his glass in one long-fingered hand. His reflection in the gilt-framed mirror above the mantelpiece revealed a muscle bunching in his jaw as he clenched it. The firelight played across his skin, making it glow and highlighting the dark hairs that dusted the back of his hand. There was strength and beauty in that hand and she itched to just reach out and touch it.
‘Best we get this out of the way. I’m tired and I need my bed.’
His bored tone didn’t fool Liberty for one second. He was as tense as she’d ever seen him. She mulled over how to start.
‘You do realise how preposterous your behaviour is?’ he drawled. ‘And what would happen if someone caught us in here? Like this?’
She jumped to her feet at that. ‘You know that is not why I have come.’ She couldn’t bear him to even suspect she might try to entrap him. ‘I would never behave in such a low, sneaky, despicable way.’
A mirthless smile stretched his lips. ‘I do know it. You are doing what you always do...risking yourself for those you...those you care for. You are a good, kind-hearted woman, Liberty Lovejoy, but you must allow other people to tread their own path, even if you believe they are making a monumental mistake.’ He raised his glass in a mock salute and downed it in one again, before eyeing his empty glass in disgust. ‘I need something stronger than this.’ He wheeled away and went to a side table, returning with two glasses in one hand and a bottle in the other. ‘Brandy?’
Her wine glass was empty. She nodded and watched him pour amber liquid into the glasses, her eyes following him as he bent to set the bottle down on the hearth, took Liberty’s empty glass from her hand and passed her the new one. She sipped. It was good brandy—the fiery spirit slipped down a treat. She’d occasionally enjoyed a glass in the evening with Bernard. They’d shared a glass the night before she left for London. It had been the last time she ever saw him.
Without warning, her eyes brimmed. She should never have gone to London. She should never have left Gideon... Mama... Papa... The guilt scoured her.
‘Liberty?’ The gentleness of Dominic’s tone was nearly her undoing, but she blinked furiously and swallowed back her tears before facing him again, chin up.
‘I am sorry. It is nothing...a memory caught me unawares, that is all.’
‘Your intended?’
She nodded, rubbing at the lonely ache in her chest as she stared into the flames. What was she doing here? Could she ever persuade Dominic to think again?
‘How do you know about Bernard...my intended?’
‘Was that his name? Gideon told Alex who told Olivia. I just happened to be present.’ Dominic steered Liberty back to her chair. He sat opposite and fixed her with an unwavering silver gaze. ‘Will you tell me about him?’
And she did. How they had grown up as neighbours, always knowing they were destined to be married.
‘You were childhood sweethearts, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘And no other man will ever usurp the sainted Bernard in your affections?’
She frowned. ‘That is how Gideon always refers to Bernard. It’s not true. He was no saint and I never set him up on a pedestal to worship.’
‘I meant no disrespect. To either of you.’
Liberty pushed her fingers through her hair and stood up. ‘I am too hot.’ She unwound her roughly tied neckcloth and then began to shrug out of Gideon’s coat. ‘Do you mind if I take this off?’
‘Be my guest.’
He pushed himself out of his chair and came behind her to help, for which she was grateful. She’d had enough of a struggle getting the tailored coat on in the first place. Removing it was even more difficult. As Dominic grasped the collar his fingers brushed Liberty’s neck and she gasped as tingles radiated through her body. Her arms free, she then felt him lift one lock of hair, just behind her ear. His breathing in her ear was erratic, almost harsh. Their reflections in the mirror above the mantelpiece showed his attention transfixed by that tendril as he allowed it to slip through his fingers to drape over her shoulder.
She stepped away. ‘Thank you. No wonder you gentlemen need valets.’
She sat down again, avoiding eye contact, conscious of that visceral attraction between them, careful not to tempt fate. Liberty Lovejoy was still Liberty Lovejoy. Not a suitable future duchess.
Dominic placed the coat on a wooden chair near the door and then flung himself into the other fireside chair.
‘So...when did you get betrothed to the s—to Bernard?’
‘Two days before I left for London to make my debut. He urged me to go...to take advantage of my godmother’s offer to sponsor me.’ She swallowed. ‘He fell ill two weeks after I left...’
In a halting voice, she told Dominic about the message that had reached her...the worst day of her life...that terrible dash back to Sussex, urging the post boys to go ever faster.
‘The worst thing,’ she said, at the end of h
er tale, ‘is the guilt that I was not there. At least I saw my parents again and helped to nurse them. But not Bernard... I never said goodbye and I can barely picture his face any more.’
‘There is no portrait?’
‘No. He promised to have a miniature painted for me, but he never did.’
Again her throat ached with the memory, but the sorrow was distant now...almost as though it had happened to another person. Slowly, the thought surfaced that she had never felt for Bernard what she now felt for Dominic. She had loved him, but it had been a quieter love...steadier. Passion had kindled, when he had kissed her, and touched her...but it had been a slow burn. It had never been this all-encompassing fire that consumed her whenever she thought of Dominic. Whenever she was near him.
‘I suppose I am fortunate that there is a portrait of my mother at the Abbey.’ Dominic was staring into the fire, the orange flames reflected in his eyes. ‘And I still had my father and my aunt and uncle. You suffered a dreadful blow, losing your parents at the same time, too. It must have been so hard for all of you.’
There was no answer to that other than Yes. Liberty sipped her brandy as she, too, contemplated the flames.
‘How old were you when your mother died?’
‘Eight. And she didn’t just die. She was murdered.’
His bitterness shouldn’t shock her, but it did. He sounded so...angry. ‘Did they ever find out who did it?’
‘No. Alex found her body. He was only seven. He didn’t speak for a year and he was never quite the same afterwards.’
‘Oh, poor little boy. That must have been dreadful for him...for all of you. And for your father, too, to lose his wife that way.’
His eyes glittered. ‘The memories of that time are hazy now...as though a veil covers the details. I just remember feeling...disbelief, I suppose. I was upset but, looking back, I doubt I fully understood I would never see her again.’ He sank his head into his hands, elbows propped on his knees. ‘As a family, we never talk about it. We were too young when it happened and I suppose we all just got used to not discussing it. The past is the past and we move forward into the future.’
‘And is that how you feel inside? That it’s all in the past? That it cannot affect you...any of you...now?’
‘Yes. No.’ He scrubbed his hands through his hair. ‘I don’t know.’
Liberty said nothing, waiting for him to go on—sensing his battle between wanting to unburden himself and family loyalty.
‘I do know it affected Father for a long time.’ His words came quietly. ‘He had refused to allow her to go to London. He told her she must spend more time with us. Her children. And a week later she was dead. I know he felt guilty for failing to protect her.’
She knew that feeling...the guilt of failing to protect. Dominic stared down at the rug.
‘We were never enough for her.’ His voice was raw. ‘She used to say she was proud of “her boys”—particularly me, as I was the heir—but they were just words to her. They had no meaning—there was never any pleasing her. And poor Olivia never got any maternal attention or affection from her.
‘My memories are those of a child—at the time I overheard things that made little sense, but as I got older I understood. Probably more than I cared to.’ He huffed a mirthless laugh. ‘I know she married Father for his wealth and for the prestige of being a duchess. She was never happy at the Abbey—she craved the excitement of London and the adulation of her admirers even though we all tried hard to behave well and to be worthy of her attention and her approval.
‘But we knew no different—she was our mother, and we worshipped her, constantly seeking approval. Now...when I look back... I compare Cecily and how she loved us all and I can see that all we ever got from Mother was coldness and rejection.’
The pain in his voice wrenched at Liberty’s heartstrings, and she ached for those children.
‘She wanted to be adored by us all, but she gave nothing...apart from one time...’ Dominic faltered, then he cleared his throat and dashed one hand across his eyes. His voice hardened. ‘She gave us nothing in return. Certainly not love.’
Liberty stared at him. ‘But...you...’
He met her gaze, his eyes glittering. ‘But...? I...?’
His tone mocked. She tried to gather her thoughts, frowning. It made no sense.
‘I do not understand. Why are you so set on fulfilling a promise to your mother if she was as cold as you say? Surely you owe her nothing?’
‘I don’t...’ He emptied his glass and set it down. He leaned forward, his head bowed, his eyes screwed shut. His elbow propped on the armrest and his splayed hand covered his face, all four fingertips pressed to his forehead, his thumb digging into his cheek. ‘I don’t know...’ he said, his voice muffled. Aching. ‘Just before she died, I hoped she might...’ He shook his head. ‘I suppose I still want to prove I am worthy of her and to make her proud of me.’
Liberty longed to take him in her arms and soothe away his pain.
‘You were eight years old, Dominic. You should not feel bound by such an oath.’
His head jerked up. ‘I shouldn’t be talking to you like this. Besides, there’s my father to think of. He suffered, too, and Alex... Alex... Well, I don’t understand, but Alex and Father will never be close. I am his heir... I cannot let him down.’ His voice broke. ‘He did not shirk his duty. I want to make him proud.’
‘Oh, Dominic.’ Liberty went to him, sank on to her knees on the floor and cradled his face in her hands. ‘I have not met your father, but how could he not be proud of you? And the rest of your family love you—that is obvious. Do you really think they wish you to be unhappy?’
He jerked his head from between her hands at that, lowering the hand that shielded his eyes. For the flash of a second, Liberty saw his vulnerability before his silvery eyes shuttered.
‘Why should I be unhappy? My marriage will be no different to hundreds of others—it is the norm in our world.’
‘It is not the norm in your family, from what I have been told. What is your stepmother like? Does she make your father happy?’
Dominic’s eyes warmed. ‘Oh, yes. She is perfect for him. We all love her.’
‘And can you picture Lady Sybilla in the bosom of your family? Will she fit in?’
His gaze slid from hers. ‘Why should she not?’
Liberty’s hands were on his knees. Her thighs and belly pressed against his shins. A knot of emotion lodged in her throat as she struggled to find the arguments to get through to him...the words that would help him to see what a huge mistake he was about to make.
‘Can you not see, though?’ She slid her hands up his thighs, the muscles rock hard beneath her fingers. She captured his gaze. ‘If you marry a woman like Lady Sybilla, you are asking for history to repeat itself.’ Her hands moved further, up his flat belly to his chest, his silk waistcoat smooth and warm to her touch. His eyes darkened and a thrill spiralled through her. ‘Is that truly what you want? Look around you, Dominic. Look at your father and your stepmother, your uncles and aunts, Olivia and Hugo. They all have love matches and are happy and content.’ Olivia had told Liberty all about the Beauchamps. ‘Is that not what you want for yourself?’ She reached his neck and curved her fingers around his jaw, his dark stubble scratching her skin.
‘Dominic...is that not what you want for your children?’
All her altruistic notions fled as she gazed deep into those silvery-grey eyes that were no longer cold mirrors, but deep, white-hot furnaces that blazed, sending bolts of pure energy and need sizzling through her. He needed a woman with warmth and curves and love to bring happiness to his life. He needed—if only he could see it—Liberty Lovejoy. But could she persuade him before it was too late?
She pressed closer and his knees parted as his hands gripped her sides and lifted, pulling her almost roughly to him. For what see
med an eternity their eyes locked and held as blood rampaged through her veins like a river in flood and the heat of desire pooled between her thighs. She fancied a question formed deep in his silvery gaze—and she knew her answer.
With a sigh of pleasure, she slipped her fingers into the heavy silk of his hair and she pressed her mouth to his.
* * *
Neither the frantic attempts by his controlling inner voice nor the stridency of the warning bells that reverberated inside his head could stop him. The groan vibrated deep, deep inside Dominic’s chest as he wrapped his arms around Liberty Lovejoy and gloried in the caress of her mouth. He had no strength to fight the strongest impulse he had ever known: the impulse to take, to enjoy, to wallow. To simply feel and not to plan...or to control...or to consider any implications. His mind might clamour all it liked for him to resist, but his body would not...could not...obey. This was what he had craved since the day he’d met her. The dam of his self-control had burst and this was what he wanted.
Right here. Right now. Regardless.
His hands plunged into her hair, shaking it loose, the heavy tresses spilling down her back as her soft body moulded to his. Her breasts—glorious, abundant, wonderful—pressed between them. Her scent curled around him, through him, drugging him...roses...no longer a smell to awaken regret and failure, but a smell to conjure forth hope and possibility. With another heartfelt groan, one hand at the small of her back, the other between her shoulder blades, he slithered from the chair, holding her carefully until they were on their knees on the rug before the fire, caressing her sweet mouth that tasted of honey. His tongue traced the soft fullness of her lips and, as they parted, swept inside, his lips sliding over hers, kissing her with a hunger that set his entire being on fire. Gently, he eased her back and he half-covered her—exactly where he had fantasised having her ever since the day she had burst into his life.
Daring to Love the Duke's Heir Page 20
