by Matilda Hart
Aileen buried her face in his shoulder, unwilling to look at him. He must think her a wanton to have sought him out during the party and virtually demanded that he consummate their marriage in that unconventional setting. She was trembling now from fear, remorse. What if she had ruined the tenuous friendship they shared? That accord that so excited her? If she had destroyed his regard for her in this single act, Aileen wasn’t sure she could recover.
“Is something the matter, my lady?” he said softly against her tumbled hair as he held her.
“I—don’t know what to say. I should never have been so brash as to come to you and—“
“We have been at cross purposes, we each of us waiting for the other. Had you not come to clear the air tonight, I might have run mad from wanting you. It can’t be healthy,” he teased and she clung to him, sagging with relief.
“You are not angry? Or—disgusted?”
“I am the opposite, I reckon. I am pleased. I feel that I am your husband now, not merely the man you sit with at supper.”
“I sit with your father as well.”
“See that it’s all you do with him and any other dinner guests! I reserve this privilege for myself,” he said and she laughed, burrowing into his arms. They parted and she straightened her dress, looked for her drawers and put them back on.
“Must I return to that party? I wanted it—wanted everyone to see how lucky I am, how I’ve got a clever handsome husband and a fine home and I wanted their admiration and—I only want you to take me to bed.”
“I said once I was happy to be able to please you with so slight a request. Upstairs now, my wife. We have important business,” he said with a smile.
Chapter 5
Their guests were attended by the marquess alone when they departed in the early hours of the morning, mystified as to where their enthusiastic hostess had gone. She was, in fact, secreted in the master’s bedchamber where they spent the next day together. Manuel had instructed his trusted valet to see they were not disturbed, so the two had many hours to explore their new married state.
Manuel had awakened Aileen before sunrise and wrapped a dark cloth across her eyes. When she protested, he soothed her, assuring her he would do nothing she would not like and if she did not like it, she had only to say so. Trusting him, she accepted the blindfold and then bucked in astonishment when she felt his mouth hot on her bare breast. The unexpected touch of his hands in her hair, his tongue at her naval, then between her legs when she was unable to see him and anticipate his next move was incredibly erotic and new to her. She ran her fingers through his dark hair, clutching at him, winding around him sinuously as he moved along her body, shocking her with new, powerful sensations. She felt the rush and jolt of her climax suddenly, throwing her head back with a cry, her body awash with the tingle of his touch.
They made love that way, both sightless, for a time, before she insisted on removing the cloth and looking at him in daylight. He was as handsome and strong as she had imagined in the dark, and she took her time at every inch of him.
“I wish I could see you,” he said idly, toying with her hair as she rested against his chest, “I don’t indulge in self-pity as a rule. I have every possible advantage and it is my duty to guard and shepherd the people of West Yorkshire as their magistrate and eventual marquess. But today, just now, I feel terribly sorry for myself that I cannot behold you in your delicious dishabille after your first night in my bed. I wish I could see you,” he said.
“So touch me instead,” she said, and he did.
The following day, when he had duties to perform that could not be postponed, Manuel left her in his bed. An hour later, Aileen turned up at his overseer’s office. She could not wait to see him again, to be with him, to touch his hand. After making love with him, she was even more deeply attached to him than ever. It hurt her to be away from him, so she had finagled his whereabouts from a footman and followed him there.
“My lady, you surprise me with your arrival. Had we formed plans together for the morning?”
“No, my lord,” she said, beaming, “I had hoped to join you for a walk after your appointment with Mr. Masters.”
“Indeed. If you care to wait, I shall accompany you,” he said, not seeming at all vexed at the interruption.
Soon he joined her and, with the aid of his cane to make certain their path was clear, he led her along his favorite walk from the village to the manor. He told her of the picnics he used to have as a boy, before his mother was ill, when she would bring cold chicken and boiled eggs in a hamper and they would lie in the meadow and eat.
“My mother took me on picnics at night, because I lived in darkness anyhow and my father would not have approved of us roaming the countryside like commoners. She told me about the stars, the constellations and their mythology, described everything until I felt like I had seen it myself. She was not only my mother—until she fell ill, she was my eyes. James has supplied her place in some ways, choosing my clothes, reading aloud, but a servant is never the same as a relation, Aileen. Do you understand what I’m asking of you?”
“I think so. Shall we stop at the next stile and sit, so I can tell you everything I see?”
“I should like that very much. I don’t like to ask, you know, as it draws attention to my infirmity and would make people feel uncomfortable. With you, with my wife, I feel I may ask.”
“You can ask me anything, Manuel. No need to be so diffident.”
“Then tonight I shall ask you to describe your breasts to me and I shall tell you not to be so diffident! You will have to give an account of yourself then, you’ll see!” he said.
“Perhaps we should begin with sheep and trees, and describe more private things when we are not in the open air?” she said.
“When did her ladyship become so proper? I recall hearing tales of the Succubus of the Emerald Isle that would make you seem like a holy sister,” Manuel said with a smile.
They sat in the meadow and she was careful to tell him about every detail she saw—a squirrel chittering on a fence rail, a cloud of insects buzzing in the heat. “I hear that,” he would say, and turn his face toward what she described. They went on thus until he reached for her, stroking her face and kissing her. It was time then to leave off description and make haste back to the manor. This became a morning ritual of sorts, a walk, conversation and laughter and description, always unfolding into a seduction.
* * *
It was a year and more after their wedding when Aileen felt the quickening of their first child. She took Manuel’s hand as he lay beside her and she pressed it to her middle.
“We are the same in this, you and I. We can both feel the child, but not see him yet.”
“Or her. We cannot see which it may be.”
“That is true, but he is patient like his father, I think. It is more than a year since we married. He was in no rush to come join us. Now when we are settled and happy, he wisely makes his appearance. I think it a boy like you.”
“I had imagined you round with my child, I confess. But I never thought to feel the baby move within your womb. It is like a miracle.”
“It is. I never thought to be this happy, to have such a man and a life where I have—everything I could want, and now a child as well. It is too good. It is strange to think when I came here at first, I thought only of how to bend you to my will, to bewitch and torment you until you would give me my freedom or do my bidding.”
“I hate to disappoint my wife, but I have done neither,” he said, kissing her.
“This is better. This is a love like I never imagined, Manuel. I wasn’t aware that marriages like this existed.”
“They don’t often, I believe. But it is wonderful. I did, after all, save you from tragic ruin,” he teased.
“Yes, you did. And I saved you from being—I don’t know—a bit lonesome?” she ventured.
“You gave me someone to grow roses for, someone to come home to, a perfect match for my soul, Aileen. So
you did rescue me, though you make light of it.”
“Perhaps I did, my lord. If I saved you at all, my reward has been far more than I deserved. To love so, body and soul and mind—not even the poets could have foreseen this.”
“Indeed they could not. But we are lucky, and now our babe shall be lucky as well,” Manuel said, kissing her, “I think we should put in more roses this year. To celebrate the birth. You must learn to help me in the garden.”
“I have tried to help you in the garden, describing each flower and leaf, but you always interrupt me and take me to bed!” she accused.
“Yes, we must be sure you help me in my garden just so,” he said, and kissed her.
THE END
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My Duke’s Desire
Introduction
Her father calls her a fool for continuing to wait for him, but how can anyone forget a man like that?
Five years ago, Helena Rowe was rescued by a handsome soldier during the Napoleonic Wars. With only a small parting gift and a kiss to remember each other by, it was unsure that they would ever meet again. However, Helena never gave up on his promise to return for her.
Eventually forced to move to London to make a living as a personal seamstress, fate gives Helena another chance to see him. But Duke Nathaniel Beaumont is no longer considered to be the pure-hearted war hero he once was. And as the Earl Oliver Dillingham, the Scandal King, begins a plot to destroy him and anyone who gets in his way, Helena is sucked into the web of lies, secrecy, and manipulation of the London elite.
Can she save the love of her life from being corrupted for good? And can she even save herself?
Prologue
26th of April, 1808
The small township of Maidstone, England had been warned of the upcoming attacks on the settlement beforehand. However, the peaceful village by the river had not been prepared – either mentally or physically – for the turmoil caused by the war against Napoleon’s army. No one would have guessed that the novel revolutionary leader could have made it past the greatest navy in Europe; let alone that he possessed some of the most ingenious, yet terrifying militia strategies possible.
But as in all wars, the heftiest price of the army’s failures was paid not by the military, but the citizens they were supposed to protect. And as was expected, the attack on the undefended village resulted in an initial bloodbath. It then transformed into a long invasion, causing those that had been able to hide to retreat into their dusty basements and cellars. With the French army roaming on the surface, these people could only pray for a miracle as they slowly ran out of good food and water.
Two such unfortunate victims were the daughter, Helena Rowe, and her mother, Beatrice. They had been able to escape the initial attack relatively unscathed, but with their husband and father, Graham, away on business, the two felt extremely vulnerable. And despite the fact that she was only seventeen, it seemed as if it was solely up to Helena to keep them both safe until a cavalry arrived.
Already prone to illness, the stress of the war had caused Beatrice to catch a stubborn ailment that resembled pneumonia. Sensing that this time the disease would be the one to triumph over her, Beatrice said, “Helena, I do not know how long this siege will last… and you are the most important thing in my life… that is why… I cannot allow you to waste anymore resources on me.”
Helena shook her head stubbornly as she clasped her mother’s cool hand tightly. Whispering harshly, she replied, “Do not speak that way, Mother! The England army will arrive soon! We cannot give up!”
“Helena…” Beatrice began weakly.
“No, Mother!” she cried. “I am not going to allow you to perish like this! We are both going to see Father again!”
Her mother sighed, but was now too exhausted to argue. As she started to drift into sleep, she said softly, “Oh Helena… If only I was as strong as your determination.”
Gently, Helena covered her mother’s thin body with another quilt. And as she watched her breathing carefully, she noticed the intricate beauty of the design. Beatrice was the most talented embroider in all of England – in the opinion of herself and father. Helena hoped that one day she would be able to match her skill. Her mother had done her best to teach her everything she knew, but as her days grew shorter, Helena was sure she would never be able to be her equal.
Trying to distract her mind from the morbid thoughts, Helena lit another small candle in the dark cellar and began to work on her own embroidery. The repetitive, yet meticulous act managed to calm her for a while, but the reprieve was quickly cut short.
Above them, Helena could hear as several men broke through the barricaded door of the house and entered the small living quarters. And from what she could distinguish from their loud talking, they were French. Being a merchant’s daughter, she knew well enough of the language to make out what they were saying. However, the boom of cannons outside made it somewhat difficult to distinguish.
One man stomped his foot around the floor, saying, “What do you think…? Find anything…?
Another walked towards what she assumed was the wardrobe in her father’s quarters and replied, “No… but he is a tradesman… there has to be a cellar of supplies somewhere…”
Helena’s eyes widened in terror as she realized they were now trying to search for the entrance. It was not in the house, thankfully, but in the chicken coop out in the back. For the next half hour, Helena’s heart did not stop pounding as the two men threw around furniture and rugs on the floor above. Seemingly giving up, she let out a breath of relief as they walked away.
In the next several minutes of silence, it appeared as if they were gone for good. Then, as she checked the locks on the cellar door, she heard it. The sounds of crazed chickens as they were disrupted from their sleep; the rooster gave a loud crow as well – before being suddenly cut off. It was not long before the pounding at the entrance began.
“They’ve found us,” her mother whispered. “Quickly, grab your father’s pistol.”
Helena rushed to retrieve it, but as she did, the hatch was finally crushed in from the men’s brutal force.
One of the soldiers yelled, “I found the English rats!”
Pointing the weapon at the man, she closed her eyes. But before she could pull the trigger, she heard him scream. Opening them again, Helena saw as the Frenchman fell to the ground. Behind him, wielding a blood-stained sword, was young man in the England army’s uniform.
“Are you alright, Miss?” he asked, stepping forward into the candle’s light.
Helena’s breath was nearly taken away as she realized what had just happened. Nearly becoming faint, she fell forward into his arms. “I am so sorry…” she said drowsily.
The handsome man smiled as he placed her on a nearby cot. “You have no need to be. I cannot imagine what you must have gone through being trapped here.”
“At least I was saved by someone as brave as you,” Helena said shyly.
He gave a small chuckle as he looked down at the pistol she had been ready to use. “Not as brave as you. I can bet you have never used that thing in your life. And yet…” he then glanced at her now sleeping mother. “You were ready to defend
her.”
“Of course, she’s my mother. I don’t think I could ever live without her.”
A sad look came over his blue eyes then as he quietly uttered, “Neither can I.”
Sitting up, Helena then asked shyly, “I am sorry to be so bold, but can I ask your name?”
“Nathaniel Beaumont,” he replied. “And might I ask yours?”
“Helena Rowe.” Nathaniel Beaumont, she thought. Why did that sound familiar?
“Well, Mr. Beaumont, I…”
“Please, call me Nathaniel,” he interrupted, looking slightly embarrassed by the formality.
“Alright… Nathaniel,” she said meekly, the calling of a soldier by his first name being rather strange on her tongue. “Please accept this. It’s not much, but I do wish to show my gratitude.”
She then handed him the small handkerchief that she had been working on earlier. It displayed her family’s coat of arms.
“It’s beautiful,” Nathaniel said, placing it tenderly into his pocket. “Thank you.”
“Oh, it’s nothing really,” she replied modestly. “It’s nothing compared to what my mother is capable of.”
“You should never doubt yourself, Helena,” the young man said earnestly. “The world will do enough of that for you.”
The two then jumped slightly as they heard five loud sounds of a trumpet.
“I have to go now, Helena,” he stated, looking rather melancholy. “But I’ll find you again. I swear it.”
Helena smiled, though doubtful of it. And though it went against all her teachings of prudence, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. She expected him leave then, but first he kissed her back, this time on her lips. They were soft and warm.
Her face burning and her voice now made speechless, she waved him off. Goodbye Nathaniel.
Chapter 1
