by Gayle Callen
“I don’t want that kind of relationship. I want a wife I like and desire, and together we’ll have children—a family.”
A twinge of pain made her speak sharply. “You don’t mention love, but you do mention an heir. Do you see me as someone meek, who will give you what you want?”
“Meek?” he said, smiling at last. “That is not the adjective for you. As for love, I do not want to lie to you. But we are so attracted to each other that love will come with time.”
“You are too certain of yourself, too arrogant. Do you have an answer for everything?”
Now he grinned, putting his hands on his hips. “Try me.”
“You are a duke. I am a commoner. You are expected to marry well and bring a beautiful, well-dowered, noble wife to the union. Your mother doesn’t even like me now, let alone as a prospective bride.”
“I don’t care about any of that.”
“I do!” And deep down, she cared about how she could possibly keep her secret, and what would happen if—when—it came out. Everyone would be trying to dig into her past, wondering how she was worth landing a duke. And then she’d bring terrible shame and ridicule down on his whole family. She would never do that.
Even though the thought of being in his arms each night, safe and cared for, was suddenly overwhelming.
“I won’t marry you, Your Grace.”
She turned to reach for the doorknob, and suddenly he was there, his body pressing hers firmly into the door. She gasped, overwhelmed by the power of him, the way his hardness fit to her softness, the way she wanted him to touch her more.
“You can’t force me, Rothford,” she whispered raggedly. “My body might react to you, but I’m not ruled by my emotions—unlike you.”
He put his mouth against her neck and inhaled deeply. “God, you smell good.”
His lips skimmed along the curve of her neck and behind her ear. She gasped as he nuzzled her there, then nibbled at her earlobe.
“You can’t force me,” she whispered again, eyes squeezed shut.
He straightened away from her and spoke quietly. “No, I would never do that.”
She looked over her shoulder first, to see his solemn expression. Slowly, she turned around until her back was against the door. “I can go?”
“Of course you can go. But I’m not withdrawing my offer for you.”
“This is ridiculous,” she said, trembling. “And you cannot tell anyone about this. I won’t be the cause of tension and anger within your family.”
“I won’t say anything because I won’t have to. I’ll simply make you see that I’m right.”
She felt for the knob behind her, opened it, then slipped out the narrow opening. She practically ran to her bedroom, knew she must have looked panicked if anyone saw her. But they didn’t, not at this time of the evening, with the family retired and the servants already abed. In her own room, she closed the door and locked it.
As if that would stop him should he choose to come in.
But her denial had been enough to stop him, hadn’t it?
Feeling dazed, she walked across the room and sank down in a chair before the hearth. A coal fire burned in the grate to combat the early-spring chill, but still she rubbed her arms and sat unseeing.
The Duke of Rothford had asked for her hand in marriage.
It seemed ridiculous and outrageous—but it was true.
She wasn’t in love with him; he wasn’t in love with her. But they were attracted to each other, and that was far more than many marriages had.
Yet the prospective bride wasn’t usually a former mistress.
She winced. How would she convince him that she couldn’t marry him without telling him the truth?
Chapter 17
Adam sank back in his big leather chair and linked his hands behind his head. He wasn’t at all surprised that Faith had refused his offer of marriage. She was a proud woman and thought he only pitied her. It would be a bit of a challenge, coming up with a way to win her over—without telling her that someone appeared to know something in her past. He would make sure she’d never even need to think about it again.
He had to convince her that the proposal was about her, and how he respected and desired her, how well they suited. Yet, he also couldn’t let his family know about his secret wooing. The challenge amused and inspired him.
Over the next few days, he made certain he was at every meal she was, being the genial head of the household. At breakfast that first morning after his proposal, he thought for certain she’d be full of blushes and unable to meet his gaze. But the opposite happened. She was cool and polite, deferential as always, looking him in the eye as if to say, I have forgotten about last night, and soon you will, too.
But he wouldn’t forget. Marriage to her would not only make them both happy, but would convince the anonymous blackguard that threats were useless, that Adam would never give up Faith.
Besides meals, he appeared at calling hours to be with his mother and aunt, greeting visitors, so he could look everyone over and see who might look too interested, perhaps even guilty.
Occasionally, when he thought he could get away with it, he snuck a note into a book Faith was reading, or into her sewing basket. They were notes to confirm that he was thinking about her, that he wouldn’t forget what he’d asked. He never signed them, of course, and if they were found, Faith could claim them from an anonymous suitor. But he liked to see her blush when she found the notes and quickly hid them.
Once in the evening, his sister played while he sang, something he hadn’t done since his youth. His mother and aunt looked pleased at the love song, Marian bored, and Faith buried her face in her needlework. But he knew she was listening.
When they attended Society functions, he was forced to step back from his courtship. He wanted to take her into his arms, to show the world she was his, especially that Gilpin fellow, who drank too much and glared whenever he saw her.
They attended the Wallingford ball several hours’ carriage ride west of London, on a massive estate that bordered the Thames. It was a crush of people, the first truly warm day of spring making it unbearably hot. The odors of people, perfume, candles, and gas lamps were overwhelming. But the dancing went on anyway, forcing the crowds to press back toward the wall, several rows deep. Adam saw Faith shoved into a corner, the perspiration that dotted her face, the misery she couldn’t quite hide. As a companion, she never had a moment’s escape from the fringes of the ballroom.
And then suddenly he saw her begin to creep along the rear of the crowd, toward the French doors that led to the terrace. Adam did the same from his side of the room, nodding absently when people greeted him, making sure all knew he didn’t have time to stop. Then he went down a corridor that led to the men’s card room, but turned off it for another exit to the grounds that sloped down to the river. He knew the layout of the mansion well, from long-ago house parties.
He felt almost like he was back in combat, his movements quiet as he kept to the shadows. He followed the edge of the terrace, able to see couples strolling along its torchlit perimeter. He slipped into the trees at the far end, and at last was able to see Faith standing above the wide sweep of marble stairs that led down into the gravel paths of the gardens.
Come to me.
He willed those words over and over again, and with only a glance over her shoulder, she hurried down the stairs. Other couples strolled the paths, of course, so it was tricky to find the right moment.
And at last she was momentarily out of sight of anyone else, and he emerged through the trees, took hold of her hand, and pulled her after him.
“Adam!” she hissed, stumbling as she was forced to follow him into the dark.
He pulled her close to whisper in her ear, “I know where I’m going. Be patient.” He tugged, and when she still
balked, he said, “Do you want me to carry you?”
He couldn’t see her face, but imagined her frowning. In only a few minutes, they emerged onto the lawn outside the main gardens. The ground angled toward the Thames, and he could see boats, the lanterns hung on their prows bobbing like fireflies in the water. With the house ablaze behind them, they had some meager light. Through the open windows and doors they could hear the music—a waltz. He’d always wanted to dance with her.
He pulled her into his arms. “A well-bred girl such as yourself surely knows how to dance.”
“Adam! I cannot dance with you!” Her words were soft and furtive, and she kept looking back at the house.
“No one can see us, and if they do, we’re so far away they won’t know who we are. Dance with me, Faith. I’ve wanted to dance with you at every event we attended.”
“We participated in the same quadrille once,” she reminded him.
“And we barely touched hands. I want you in my arms. One dance, Faith.”
She hesitated for a long moment, then said with great reluctance, “One dance.”
It was a glorious dance. He swept her away, with no other couples to interfere in their progress. The feel of her supple back was magic beneath his palm. Her hand in his was how it was meant to be. She danced beautifully, following his lead as they circled about. He pulled her closer and closer, letting his thigh slide between hers as they took the turns. Her head dropped back and they held each other’s gazes.
And suddenly he realized she’d be his if someone saw them. He was so close to having her as his wife, it made him a little reckless. But then he knew he couldn’t do that to her, give her a public scandal.
But perhaps there was another way to do it . . .
Faith’s cares and fears fell away at the magic of dancing in Adam’s arms. He was strong and graceful, supportive and powerful. His hands guided her with the same feeling as a caress. With every whirl of the dance, the light from the house played on different sides of his face, lightening and darkening. And he was smiling through it all, with almost . . . tenderness.
But she couldn’t believe that—didn’t want to believe that.
“Don’t pull away,” he said softly.
“I’m not.”
“But your expression is.”
She didn’t know what to say, and instead closed her eyes and simply . . . existed within her body, in the sensations he aroused, the rhythms of the music. All the reasons she shouldn’t be there faded away.
And then the music ended, and he caught her up against him, both breathing faster. She stared into his eyes that glittered like starlight.
He let her go and bowed. “Thank you for the dance.”
She hesitated, but somehow the magic wouldn’t leave, and she sank into a deep curtsy. “I’ve never . . . danced like that before,” she admitted, rising back up.
“Never? You are a gentleman’s daughter. Surely they had country assemblies in your village?”
“They did, but . . . the waltz was scandalous in our remote north. Though I practiced it, I’ve never danced it with anyone other than my dancing instructor. And you are . . .”
“Far superior in both technique and grace?”
She bit her lip to hide her smile. “Taller.”
He winced. “A man has to do much to earn your praise. Won’t a marriage proposal do?”
Her smile faded, and she was surprised by the feeling of grief that welled up inside her, grief for all the things she’d never have, a husband, children. “Oh, Adam, don’t ruin this special dance.”
His eyes grew shuttered. “If you think happiness means ruination.”
She lifted up her skirts and ran, back through the trees bordering the gardens, hesitating near the path to make sure she was alone, then reappearing, trying to walk sedately toward the terrace.
It was hard to feel sedate when her heart was thumping madly, when she had just experienced the most romantic moment of her life. No man had ever treated her the way Adam had, and she experienced a moment of longing and regret.
Did she actually want to marry him, even though she knew she wouldn’t?
She might care for him, but that only emphasized her need to refuse.
When they returned to London the next day, Adam was filled with purpose. He now knew Faith would never willingly marry him, so he had to bring it about. He’d promised he wouldn’t force her, and truly, he wouldn’t. The final decision would still be up to her. He would just make it harder for her to refuse.
Only his family could be the ones to find them together, would make certain the scandal wouldn’t go beyond Rothford Court. Maybe not even all of his family needed to be involved, he mused. His aunt and his sister would be the most likely to be sympathetic, but insistent that Faith and he needed to marry.
But try as he might, he couldn’t come up with a way to get Faith alone with him, and still manage to have his family find them. He needed an accomplice, and who better than Sophia, full of dreams of romance and happily-ever-afters? She admired Faith and understood his connection to her.
After they arrived home that afternoon, he found his sister helping her maid unpack. The maid bobbed a curtsy and left upon seeing him, and Adam strolled into the room and closed the door behind him.
Sophia, standing over her trunk, gave him an amused glance. “This is an unusual visit. I assume you need my help in a private matter?”
He smiled. “I’ve been asking Faith to marry me for a week, and she keeps refusing.”
Sophia froze, then her mouth slowly sagged open.
“That’s a better reaction than Faith’s,” he said wryly. “She snorted and laughed in my face.”
Sophia winced. “Oh, Adam, I’m sorry. But I imagine she thought you were joking.”
“Maybe for a moment, but then she realized the truth. I’ve never met anyone who made me imagine a future together before her.”
Her expression softened. “That’s quite romantic, dear brother.”
“She doesn’t think so. She thinks I’m doing it out of guilt or boredom—her words.”
“Are you? The guilt, anyway?”
He paused. “We met under those circumstances, and certainly, I will never forget what I cost her, but I enjoy her, I’m attracted to her, and I believe we suit.”
“But, Adam, do you love her?”
“I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like, so I won’t lie and say I do. She says we have no love, although she cannot deny there’s an attraction.”
Sophia pinkened. “Well, that might be more than I need to hear.”
His amusement faded. “I fear her concerns about our differences in consequence will make her leave Aunt Theodosia’s employ. She might end up with another Warburton family again, all in the name of pride.”
“You honestly think it’s pride?”
“I do. Pride and maybe fear, because after all, it’s not every day one becomes a duchess.”
“If you want my advice, all you can do is be patient.”
“I’ve been patient, I’ve been romantic. I’ve slipped her notes, I’ve sung to her, I’ve danced with her under the moonlight.”
Her eyes widened. “Last night? That was quite daring. What if you’d been caught?”
He arched a brow.
“Oh, then she’d have had to marry you.”
“I didn’t dance with her for that reason, but it gave me an idea. Perhaps you and Aunt Theodosia could catch us alone? That way any scandal wouldn’t spread beyond family. I don’t want Faith embarrassed. I just want to be her husband.”
“I don’t know, Adam. It’s rather deceitful.”
“Do you have another suggestion? She’s going to risk going out on her own again, just because she thinks she’s beneath me. I don’t care abou
t a dowry or anything like that. She’s a gentleman’s daughter, not a fruit girl, for God’s sake. Sophia, I need your help.”
Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin. “All right, I’ll do it. I like Faith, and I think she’d be good for you. And I’d love another niece or nephew. Do you have a plan?”
He took her hand and squeezed it in gratitude. “Tell me what you think.”
The next evening, the duchess and Lady Tunbridge were at a dinner, but Lady Duncan decided to rest before her meeting the next day. Together they’d prepared a speech, and Faith knew she’d be smashing. Adam had gone out, thank God, so she didn’t have to avoid his intense gazes. Consequently, she was alone in the family drawing room with only Sophia for company. The two women read books in peaceful companionship, even though Faith thought Sophia had been acting rather . . . excitable during the day. Even the fact that Mr. Percy visited during morning calls had not seemed to settle her down. Maybe that was part of the problem, excitement that he’d missed her and come to visit her—on the pretense of paying his respects to the duchess, of course.
Sophia suddenly closed her book with a snap. “Oh, dear, I totally forgot to write a letter that needs to be posted in the morning. Have a good evening, Faith!”
Faith barely had a moment to say good night before Sophia was gone. Faith sighed and shook her head, returning to the exciting part of her book, Jane Austen’s Persuasion, where the heroine, Anne, was just about to read the romantic note from her long lost love, Captain Wentworth. They’d been separated for eight long years, had missed out on joy together.
She refused to think of her own situation in that light. She might be denying Adam, but it was for a far better reason than Anne had. Anne had been persuaded by a friend that it was an inferior match, that his prospects were poor. Faith knew it was her own prospects that were poor, so she was doing the right thing. She would never regret her decision like Anne did.
