by Matilda Hart
Tonight she would try again. The Duke was hosting a card party, and the last of the guests would be leaving soon. His Grace had been imbibing freely, and Emilia harbored the hope that he would be, if not drunk, then at least pleasantly tipsy by the time she made her move. She had been spending time with one of his horses and planned to use it to ride away, though where she would go still escaped her. He had stopped guarding her door, and she had not seen him or anyone else outside her window for at least a week. Which meant that he was beginning to believe that she was finished trying to break free of him. It was the perfect time to make the attempt.
“I think it best if I retire now,” he announced after the last guest had departed. “Goodnight everyone.”
He didn’t wait for a response but walked away on slightly unsteady legs. Emilia waited for ten minutes before also excusing herself, knowing that the couple she was leaving behind would be more than able to entertain themselves. In fact Lord Gillingham and Lady Eleanor were already stealing kisses from each other’s mouths before she had managed to exit the room. What she would give to have a love like that! But it was not to be. Instead, she was tied to a man who could make her tremble with both anger and arousal. She did not know how to process the emotions swirling inside her, so she decided that she had to leave, that escape was still her best option.
Up in her room, she slipped her feet out of the heeled shoes she had worn and into a pair of slippers. Then removing the fancy evening gown, she donned the blue muslin, sans petticoats, and tied a bonnet on her head. She looked around, trying to decide what to take with her. In the end, she decided against trying to do a bundle, opting to stick a hanky into her bosom, and to tie the few coins that she possessed around her waist, under her chemise. Those preparations having been made, Emilia pushed the window open and took a deep breath.
She had decided, and the day approached, that this would be her last ditch attempt. If she failed, she would have to dig deep to find the strength to endure. Gritting her teeth, she pushed the window open and began to climb out. Unexpectedly, a strong arm wrapped around her waist and heaved her onto a broad shoulder. Squealing in distress, she looked down and recognized her captor as the Duke holding her in place. Furious that he has caught her again, she pounded at his shoulders and kicked her legs in an effort to shake herself loose, but she could do nothing to stop him from taking her back to his rooms. She noted that his rooms were right next to hers, and that in fact there had been a connecting door which she had completely overlooked. He tossed her onto the bed, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing her slowly.
Emilia huffed out an indignant breath and began to speak. “How dare you enter my bedchamber without my consent? And why have you brought me into yours? This is inexcusable behavior, Your Grace!”
“Call me Cedric when we are alone together,” he invited her, completely ignoring her outburst, which angered her even more.
“I will do no such thing!” she retorted, almost instinctively, though the idea of being so familiar with him filled her with a heady warmth. She ignored the feeling.
“Is it your intention to keep trying to escape, Emilia?” he asked.
“I must,” she said, suddenly feeling defeated and exhausted. “As long as you force me to remain, I will never stop.”
“I want nothing more than your absolute surrender,” he informed her, sitting next to her on the bed and stroking her arm.
“You cannot make me give in to you,” she told him.
“Nor is it my wish to do so,” he replied. “I want you to surrender to me of your own free will.” He smiled at the confused look on her face. “You do know that every time you try to run away, I will bring you back, don’t you, little one?”
Emilia sighed. “Yes,” she said. “I know it.”
“I would like to strike a bargain with you,” he said, standing and moving away from her.
She sat up in his bed and watched him pace.
“If you agree to marry me, of your own free will, and allow me to show you that I can make you happy, I will give you the freedom that you want.”
Emilia squinted up at him, disbelief plain on her face. “That is all you would ask of me?”
“That is all. Marry me, and let me make you happy.”
Emilia bit her lip, thinking hard about the Duke’s proposal. She had already decided that if he caught her she would no longer try to escape. However, he was giving her the chance to live as she wished to do within the confines of marriage. She could see no other choice.
“Very well, Your Grace. I accept.”
He smiled, and for the first time, it went all the way to his eyes. “I wish you to say the words to me, and call my name as you do so.”
His voice was curiously hoarse, and Emilia noted that his hands were fisted at his sides, but he made no move to come near her. She knew what he wanted her to say. “I will marry you, Cedric.”
Why she suddenly felt as though a great weight had been lifted off her she couldn’t say. But it felt good to be able to relax at last. He was speaking again, and she forced herself to attend to his words.
“We must learn to compromise with each other, Emilia,” he said. “I will never break your spirit. I enjoy sparring with you. I appreciate your strong will and determination. It is my delight.”
Emilia blushed as he complimented her for the very things she thought would make him dislike her the most. Suddenly, marrying him did not seem to be too difficult a concept to understand.
“Will you set the date for our betrothal party with Eleanor now?”
“Do you mean to suggest that I do so at this very moment, my lord?” she asked coyly.
“Are you flirting with me, my lady?” he asked in his turn, laughing when she blushed again. “I have been observing you do it, and I must confess to loving it entirely too much.”
She laughed, though his next question sobered her. “And what of the wedding date?”
Emilia swallowed. “I will be guided by you, my l...Cedric,” she said. Compromising would begin immediately. She did not miss the warmth that heated his gaze at her words, and she wondered what it meant.
“I will let you go to bed now,” he said, helping her to stand and leading her back into her chamber. “Sleep well, Emilia.”
He leaned in and kissed her cheek, and then turned her around and pushed her into her room, closing the door behind her.
Over the next week, Emilia and Eleanor finalized the plans for the betrothal party, and she sent a missive to her father informing him of the event. She also told him that the Duke wanted them to be married on her birthday, and she wished for him to be there to give her away. She further indicated that her sisters and their husbands were also invited for the occasion. When she was not with Eleanor, Emilia found herself spending more time with the Duke. He asked to see her ride, and when she returned, he had complimented her on her seat, and on her control of the beast. They had gone for rides together, with Lord Gillingham for company once, and Emilia had challenged them to a race. The men had looked dubious, but she managed to persuade them to do it. The duke won, but not by much, and both men had roundly applauded her for her prowess.
Emilia basked in the praise of the man she was finally allowing herself to admit to having feelings for. She was yet a maiden, and had never known a man, but she knew instinctively that the feelings of warmth, and the shivering and trembling that she often did when he was close to her, were all signs of intense arousal. She yearned for the intimacies that her sisters and Eleanor already enjoyed, but she kept her desires a secret from everyone. There would be time enough to explore all the new feelings that her surrender to the Duke had engendered.
The betrothal party was a resounding success. Emilia wore an elegant gown of pink and gold in silk and taffeta, and when she was introduced to the assemblage as the fiancé of the Duke of Roxburgh, the family and friends erupted into wild cheers. She danced every dance with him, or sat with Eleanor, whom she had observed was feeling far from
well. When her sister-in-law-to-be grew suddenly pale, and covered her mouth with a gloved hand, Emilia knew that things were coming to a head, and that soon there would be another babe welcomed to the family.
She found Lord Gillingham and informed him of his wife’s condition. Then she located the Duke, and he quickly dispatched someone to fetch the doctor, while the guests made their hurried departure. By the time the doctor arrived, Eleanor was lying in bed, all the things the doctor might need laid out next to her for his use. This was Emilia’s third birth, so she was well aware of what would occur. However, at the doctor’s request, everyone left the room, including Lord Gillingham -- she still found it difficult to call him John -- and the Duke plied him with brandy to keep him calm. Six hours later, a baby’s frantic cry echoed down the hall as the doctor opened the door to announce the birth of a new Gillingham, another boy.
Holding the infant two days later, Emilia felt herself contemplating the question that the Duke had asked her weeks before. Did she want to have children of her own? She didn’t know, but it felt good to hold the little body against her own. It made her wish to feel another body against her own, and wonder if his would feel as warm as the baby’s did. Returning the babe to his father’s arms while his mother dozed, Emilia left their bedchamber for her own, and after Alice had helped her to undress, she sat for a long while in the chair by the window, looking out into the night.
She would be married soon. The thought made her smile now, where before it filled her with dread. And she could now also say that she was beginning to feel very deeply for the Duke, who had kept his word regarding giving her freedom. He had britches made for her to allow her to ride like a man when she was alone with him. He did not insist that she be anyone other than who she was...a free-spirited, independent thinker, a mischievous prankster, a woman with the power of choice. He spoiled her with gifts and compliments, and every day she saw more clearly that whatever she was beginning to feel for him, he was already feeling for her. She was a different woman than she had been when she first arrived at Roxburgh Manor. And she couldn’t imagine being any happier.
Epilogue
The wedding day dawned chilly but bright. The Duke of Roxburgh dressed carefully in his wedding finery, and waited impatiently for his wife-to-be to descend the stairs on her father’s arm. Her entire family had come for the nuptials, and everyone else was assembled by the front door, waiting for the carriages that were hired to take them to the church. When Emilia walked down the stairs, there was an audible gasp from the assembled family members. She was exquisite.
He walked over to where she stood, and whispered in her father’s ear. That gentleman smiled broadly and escorted his daughter into the duke’s study, making himself as scarce as he could while his future son-in-law made one final gesture to prove his devotion to her.
The Duke took Emilia’s hand, and led her over to the fireplace. “I have one last thing I wish to give you before we wed,” he told her. “It will be the most valuable thing that I can give you.”
Emilia’s eyes grew wide. “What else can you possibly give me, Cedric?” she asked.
He paused, looking solemnly at her, and then he said, “If you still think you can be happier as an unmarried woman, I will give your freedom. I will release you from your obligation to marry me, and let you go.”
“I beg your pardon?” Emilia was astounded. “Are you saying that I can leave now? On our wedding day?”
“That is exactly what I am saying,” he replied. “I have grown to love you, Emilia, and it would likely break my heart if you were to take me up on my offer. But if this is what you want, I will give it to you.”
The Duke watched as tears pooled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks. He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and tenderly wiped her tears away.
“What is your decision, little one?” he asked after a while. “Do not keep me in suspense a moment longer.” He
“You’re right, of course,” she said. “If I went away as I had tried to do so often, I would be free. But I would not enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed sparring with you. I would be miserable because you would not be there with me. I want to be free, Cedric...with you. If you’ll still have me as I am.”
The Duke leaned in and stole a chaste kiss from her pretty lips. “I would not have you any other way,” he said. “Shall we go? The vicar is waiting.”
Emilia smiled as she walked out on her father’s arm. For the first time, she said a prayer of thanks for her father’s refusal to let her change his mind. If he had done so, she would never have met the Duke. And she was glad she had. Very glad indeed.
THE END
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An Inconvenient Duchess Romance
Introduction
Duke Vivian Gadsby Flint is a decorated war hero, a powerful leader, and a man of means, haunted by a beautiful apparition that saved his life on the battlefields of France. Though he is comfortable on his own, Vivian decides that it is time to fulfill his dead mother’s wish that he should wed a woman from a family of superior reputation. An arrangement is set for Vivian to be wed to one of the most privileged young ladies in the country, but will a fateful encounter with a beautiful and impoverished governess change Vivian’s destiny? Or is she, too, just another chimera that resides only in the realm of the imagination?
Prologue
The battlefield was so caked with smoke and dust that Vivian could barely see what was in front of him. Covered in blood and hobbling from an injury to the foot, having endured hours of combat on the war-torn field now strewn with bodies, all he could think to do was to get out. The nagging need for water and shelter had been calling to him for quite some time, but the need to continue the fight trumped all - until this moment. Vivian was an able-bodied fighter; not only that, he was notorious in his regiment for never giving up - for enduring the pain and sacrifice that comes from being a soldier. But finally, his human nature would override his stalwart character.
His eyes were burning from the gun smoke, ears almost deaf now to the loud clammer of bullets and screams of his fellow soldiers, lying on the field in agony, missing limbs, skin torn from flesh, longing to go home and be cared for. Vivian wanted to pull some of his fellow soldiers out of the fray, but with no visibility it was almost impossible to distinguish those wearing green coats, and those wearing the royal blue coats of his regimen. He would come back for his friends, he told himself. But first he needed water, or he’d most certainly be dead.
He didn’t know what direction he was going, but he was sure that there was a river nearby, perhaps a mile from the battlefield. Vivian became aware of the fact that something strange was happening to his mind. The plumes of smoke in the air were taking-on rich and fantastical colors. Sweeping clouds of bright purple and shocking magenta mixed with weightier tufts of kelly green and orange. Was this some sort of foreign gun smoke that he had never seen before? Was it a strange play on the light of the French countryside? Vivian couldn’t be sure. He kept moving.
A hand seemed to burst out of the ground as if exhuming itself from a grave, and fiercely grabbed Vivian’s ankle, sending him face first onto the ground and dropping his rifle just inches away from
puncturing him in the side.
“Aidez moi! Aidez moi!” The voice was practically gurgling, pleading with the remaining breath that the poor soul had left. Vivian felt no hatred for his adversaries, he was merely devoted to his King and country, but he could not stop to help this man. From the sound of him, Vivian knew there would be no hope for him. He managed to kick the hand from his foot and crawled on hands and knees to continue pressing forward. His rifle could not be relocated, and he’d have to carry-on without it.
Minutes went by before Vivian was able to get to his feet. The wound on his leg throbbed deeply now and it reverberated up his entire body. The sensation was so profound that he could practically taste his wound in his parched mouth, but he managed to increase his pace to a hobbled trot. For what seemed like hours - Vivian had lost all sense of time and place - he continued at this pace, and as the smoke cleared and the dead bodies were fewer in number, he could see that he finally had escaped. A small sliver of blue gently appeared as a tear in the sky, and he thought for a moment that it might be the most lovely sight he had ever seen.
