‘Oh, thank heaven.’ Ellen’s legs felt so weak she thought she might have collapsed if Max had not been holding her. She reached out and clasped Tony’s hand in both her own. ‘Thank you,’ she said fervently.
Max kept his arm around Ellen and hurried her indoors. He knew she would not rest until she had seen for herself that the boy was safe so he took her directly upstairs, leaving a watery trail behind them. Jamie was in bed and already half-asleep when they reached the nursery. Max felt his chest tighten at the sight of the little boy tucked up snugly under the covers, the blond curls still slightly damp. His son.
Ellen fell to her knees beside the bed, stifling a sob.
‘That will do now, Miss Ellen,’ Matlock told her gruffly, worry causing her to revert to addressing her mistress in the old way. ‘You are dripping water all over the boy, which will not do him any good.’
‘No. No, of course. I wanted to be sure he was all right.’ Ellen leaned closer to plant a gentle kiss on his head before she pushed herself to her feet. Outside the thunder was still rolling, but softly now, moving away.
Ellen tried to smile, but Max saw it fade. She swayed and would have fallen if he had not been ready to catch her.
‘Shock,’ said Matlock as he swept Ellen up into his arms. ‘She needs to get dry and warm. And as quickly as possible.’
‘I will see to it.’
He carried her from the nursery, holding her against his heart. Even in her sodden clothes she weighed almost nothing. Down the stairs and past the door to her bedchamber, he took her to his own dressing room. Flynn would already have a bath prepared for him and he knew that would be the quickest way to drive the chill from Ellen’s body. She was stirring, but he made no effort to put her down. It was a struggle to open the door, but he managed it, stepping through and kicking it closed behind him. The warmth of the room enveloped them both. Flynn had pulled the curtains across the windows, shutting out the storm, and as Max had hoped, a fire blazed in the hearth and the candles burned in their sockets, casting a cosy glow over the room.
In front of the fire was the hip bath, perfumed steam rising lazily from the water and scenting the air. Flynn came in from the bedchamber and could not hide his surprise to see his master arrive with the Duchess in his arms, but Max was in no mood for explanations.
He said shortly, ‘Leave us.’
‘Shall I send in Her Grace’s maid?’
‘No. I will deal with this.’
Flynn went out, closing the door quietly behind him. Ellen stirred again and Max looked down at her.
‘We must get you out of that wet gown.’
Gently he set her on her feet, but she was shivering too much to do much more than stand still while he swiftly helped her out of her clothes and into the bath. The wry thought flashed across his mind that the practice he had had over the years of undressing women was at last proving useful. His own skin was beginning to feel the chill of his sodden jacket and shirt so he stripped down to his breeches and threw more logs on to the already roaring fire before turning his attention back to Ellen. She had stopped shivering and was lying back in the warm water, eyes closed. A touch of colour had returned to her cheeks and as he knelt beside the bath she opened her eyes.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
He wanted to lean across and kiss the corner of her mouth, where the first tremulous signs of a smile had appeared, but he resisted. She would think he wanted her gratitude and that was not it at all. Instead he reached out and gently moved a stray curl from her cheek.
‘Are you feeling better now?’
‘I am getting warmer.’
‘Good. Then if you will permit me I shall finish drying myself.’
* * *
Ellen rested her head against the high side of the bath. The warmth of the water was soaking into her limbs, relaxing her. She felt no urgency to do anything save look at Max. He had his back to her, so she felt free to watch as he dragged the towel across his shoulders, enjoying the way the light played with the muscles as he moved, throwing up shadows, accentuating the strong lines. She felt less relaxed when he discarded his breeches. There was a definite pleasure in looking at the narrow hips and strong thighs. He moved with a lithe grace, exuding power, and a tiny frisson of anxiety went through her when he disappeared into the bedroom, but he was back almost immediately, wrapped in an exotic dressing gown. The disappointment she felt because she could no longer see his body made her smile.
It was at that moment Max chose to look at her and heat flooded through her, rising up to colour her cheeks. If he noticed her blush he gave no sign, but picked a large towel from the rack on the far side of the fire and approached the bath.
‘The water will be growing cold. Come along.’
Obediently she rose. As she stepped out of the bath he wrapped her in the towel and in his arms, pulling her against him. Ellen closed her eyes and let the memories flood back as the thick material enveloped her, gentle and comforting against her skin.
‘I have not felt towelling as soft as this since my wedding day,’ she murmured, leaning against him. ‘The local women bathed me and dressed me for the ceremony, do you remember?’
Good memories of hot days, warm nights and long, languorous lovemaking.
‘How could I forget?’ He lowered his head to kiss her neck and she felt the pleasure welling up inside. He released her with a sigh. ‘I have tried so hard to resist you.’
She did not move away.
‘Why should you?’ she whispered, letting the towel fall to the floor. ‘I am your wife.’
Green fire blazed in his eyes. As he lifted her into his arms she wanted to say how much she loved him, but he had made it plain he did not want that. She was afraid such a declaration might drive him away again and she could not bear for him to leave now, when her body was crying out for him. Instead she put her hands around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder while he carried her through to the bed and laid her gently on the covers. In one fluid movement he shed his banyan and stretched himself beside her. He propped himself on one elbow and looked at her, devouring her with his eyes, and it was all she could do not to reach out for him. When he lowered his head to plant a gentle kiss on one shoulder she breathed out on a sigh. Her head went back as he trailed kisses across her collar bone, pausing at the little dip at the base of her throat.
Ellen closed her eyes and reached for him. She pushed her hands through his hair, feeling the silky softness of it, breathing in the scent of him, damp skin and warm, woody spices that excited her senses. She burrowed against him, urgently seeking his mouth, and when at last their lips met the whole world exploded. She clung to him, touching, caressing, revelling in the feel of flesh on flesh as they came together in a tangle of limbs and a frenzied consummation that was over all too soon.
In a silence broken only by their gasping, panting breaths, Ellen rolled away from Max, on to her side. Gently but firmly he reached out and pulled her against him, curving himself around her back and cradling one breast in his hand as he kissed her neck. Smiling, Ellen closed her eyes and enjoyed the delicious sensation of his body wrapped about her. It felt as if she had come home.
* * *
She had slept then, but at some point Max must have given orders for dinner to be sent up on a tray, for when she awoke he coaxed her to sit up and they fed each other with delicious slivers of meat and fruit washed down with sweet wines. It was a magical, other-worldly experience, curled on the bed within the glow from a single branched candlestick. They barely spoke and Ellen knew it was a truce, of sorts, and she was content to shut out the problems of the past, for a while at least.
Afterwards Max pulled her back down into his bed and they fell into a deep sleep, but before the last of the candles had burned itself out Ellen stirred. Max was still curled about her, but now he was pressed against h
er, hard and aroused. The hand on her breast was caressing her, his thumb gently circling the nub. She moved restlessly and his other hand slid over her hip. She gasped as his fingers slipped into the hinge of her thighs and he began to stroke her, slowly at first, but going deeper, faster until she was bucking against him, crying out as he carried her to the very edge of consciousness. Her body was trembling with anticipation as he rolled her on to her stomach and pulled up her hips. Then, kneeling behind her on the bed, he entered her, driving deep into her core. He smoothed his hands over her aching breasts, ran his fingers over her belly and down again between her thighs to caress the tender spot there until she was moaning with pleasure. Every thrust brought a gasp as he took her higher and she knew he was keeping his own desires in check until he had tipped her over the edge into ecstasy. Only then did he let go and with a shout of triumph he buried himself deep inside her. They fell on to the bed, sated, exhausted, and as Max gathered her against him she heard his murmur, soft against her skin.
‘My wife. My Duchess.’
But in the morning she was alone.
* * *
Jupiter flew across the park, Max crouched low over his neck, urging him on, pushing the horse to its limit. Deer grazing peacefully on the rise scattered in panic as the black hunter and its rider continued their headlong flight. They skirted the Home Wood and galloped towards the ridge, where the pace slowed as they ascended the hill. Max had hoped an early morning gallop would purge the lust from his blood and he would be able to think rationally, but it had not worked. He could not forget the sight of Ellen as she rose, naked from the bath, the feel of her, fragile and defenceless in his arms. Then watching that rosy mouth brush his fingertips as he fed her delicate morsels, fulfilling his need to protect and cherish her. He had vowed he would not fall under her spell again, but desire had overwhelmed him, fierce as ever.
For a few hours last night he had forgotten the pain and anger and guilt that had dogged him for so long. Perhaps he was wrong to blame her for everything. Perhaps it was not too late to start again, if he could trust her. If she loved him. Max brought Jupiter to a stand on the edge of the ridge. Yesterday’s storm had cleared the air and his lands lay spread out below him, Rossenhall looking serene in the morning sun.
Was she awake yet, his Duchess? Was she lying in those tangled twisted sheets and thinking how glorious the night had been? Of course not. He was not fool enough to think her first waking thoughts would be of him. She would go directly to the nursery, to assure herself that Jamie was safe. His hands tightened on the reins and Jupiter snorted and sidled nervously. Max leaned forward and stroked the glossy neck.
‘I cannot blame her, I suppose, since it was the first place I went this morning.’
He thought again of peeping in at the little scamp as he slept, the way his heart turned over at the sight of that tousled head, of being assured by Matlock that the young lord was none the worse for yesterday’s adventure.
He is all I have, Max.
He could not forget Ellen’s words. They had echoed in his head when he woke at first light to find her still sleeping in his arms. He had slipped out of bed, knowing if he stayed he would give in again to the desire that was still raging through him. Last night she had wanted comfort, reassurance, but that did not mean she loved him, any more than he loved her.
It was simply desire.
Max turned Jupiter and headed back the way they had come, but there was a nagging suspicion in his brain that there was nothing simple about his desire for his wife.
Chapter Twelve
She was in the Duke’s bed.
Ellen stretched luxuriously, aware of the feeling of well-being that still enveloped her, despite the fact that she was alone. Their union last night had been borne out of need, but it had been satisfying for both of them, she was convinced of it. But if that were so, where was Max now? She must be cautious, it would not be wise to read too much into what had happened. They had comforted one another, it was nothing more than that and she must not expect some miraculous reconciliation. Nevertheless, the tiny flame of hope would not be quenched.
Ellen sat up and looked about her. The curtains around the bed were tied back and on top of a chest of drawers by the window she could see the tray of dishes from last night’s meal. It reminded her of the intimate dinner they had shared, the gentle way Max had coaxed her to eat. As if he really cared. She pushed away the thought and concentrated on studying the room. It was as ostentatious as her own bedchamber, but in darker, more masculine colours that made it even more oppressive. She spent a few moments lost in a pleasant daydream of how she would redecorate it, but she soon gave up. Max would never allow it.
Birds were singing outside the window and there were sounds that indicated the household was awake. What she would give at this minute to have connecting doors between the Duke and Duchess’s apartments! Her eyes fell upon the garishly coloured dressing gown laid across the end of the bed. Max’s banyan. Had he left it there deliberately, so she would have something to wear as she made her way back to her own room? How thoughtful of him. She slipped it on, shivering a little as the cold silk touched her bare skin. It was far too long, puddling the floor around her feet, but at least it covered her completely. A quick peep into the dressing room showed her that everything was as they had left it last night, the bath still full of water and their clothes scattered over the floor. She smiled. No doubt Max had given instructions that she was not to be disturbed and his excellent valet was complying in full.
Still smiling, Ellen checked that the banyan was securely fastened and swept out of the Duke’s apartments and back to her own, as composed as—well, as a duchess.
* * *
When Max returned from his ride he shut himself away in the offices with Tony for the rest of the day, dealing with estate matters. He knew he was avoiding Ellen, but it had to be done. He needed time to rebuild his defences against her allure. Yet he could not ignore the whisper of anticipation as the dinner hour approached. He was eager to see his Duchess again.
The Dowager was alone when he entered the drawing room. She had heard of Jamie’s escapade yesterday and was eager to discuss it. Not so much a discussion as a diatribe, he thought grimly as Dorcas launched into a long lecture on managing a family.
‘I was never in favour of moving a laundry maid to the nursery,’ she declared. ‘It was the height of folly. I knew no good would come of it and after this incident I hope you will turn her off, Maximilian.’
‘You are talking of Eliza,’ said Ellen, coming in at that moment. ‘I spoke to her this morning. The poor girl is as sorry as can be that she let Jamie out of her sight. I am confident it will not happen again. Jamie, too, has been told he must not go out of doors unaccompanied.’
Dorcas sniffed. ‘I still say the girl is not fit to look after a child.’
‘The running of the household is the Duchess’s province,’ said Max.
Ellen threw him a grateful look. ‘I am sure Eliza has learned her lesson and I believe she will be a much better nursemaid in future.’
Since Matlock came in at that moment with the little Marquess, the subject was dropped. Jamie was in buoyant mood, he had enjoyed another riding lesson and was eager to tell them all about it.
* * *
After half an hour Dorcas declared she had a headache coming on and as Matlock had not yet returned to collect Jamie, Ellen whisked him away, back to the nursery.
The door had barely closed before Dorcas turned to Max.
‘You are too lenient, Your Grace. This is your house; it is up to you to decide if the nursemaid goes or stays.’
‘I have told you, Dorcas, this is a matter for the Duchess.’
‘Duchess!’ Dorcas gave an angry titter. ‘The Colnebrookes can trace their lineage back to the Conqueror. What is she but a...a tradesman’s chit?’
/> ‘She is my wife, madam, and the mother of my child.’
‘But is she a suitable consort? If she truly cared for you, would she have kept the boy hidden for three years? Oh, do not attempt to deny it, Maximilian. I know you—if you had known about your son you would have fetched him here immediately.’
‘But you will not share your theory, Dorcas, is that understood?’
The Dowager’s thin lips almost disappeared as she fought with her temper, then she inclined her head.
‘Naturally, if that is your wish.’
‘It is. If I discover you have mentioned the matter to anyone else I shall be extremely displeased, do I make myself clear?’
‘She has bewitched you with her beauty.’
‘Perhaps.’
Unbidden, thoughts of the night returned and he could not prevent a smile breaking out. The Dowager saw it at once and her eyes snapped angrily.
‘She is making a fool of you, Maximilian,’ she said, her voice rising. ‘She left you once, what is to stop her doing so again? Who knows how the twisted minds of the lower orders work?’
Max frowned. ‘Now you are being foolish.’
‘Am I? Your brother knew what was due to his rank, he would never have married beneath him as you have done! And as his heir you should have applied to him for permission to marry. If only you had written to him, asked for his advice before throwing yourself away on a nobody, this disastrous mésalliance could not have occurred!’
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