Enchanting the Duke (The Seven Curses of London Book 11)

by Lana Williams

  Never before had that temptation been so...tempting. He shook his head at his wayward thoughts and focused on the search. How to deal with the distraction she presented would have to wait until he found her. He refused to consider possible failure in his quest. Not when it made his chest ache at the thought.

  Would she prefer the openness of the fields for her walk or the secrecy of the woods? How unfortunate that he didn’t know her well enough to say for certain. Thank goodness he had a basic understanding of the land surrounding the area given his previous tours with Burbridge since visibility was so poor, else he’d be in danger of becoming lost. The fog was disorienting.

  He rode toward the fields, but the lure of the trees soon called. Somehow, he could more easily see her walking along the woods. His steed seemed in agreement and acted eager to get into the limited shelter the branches provided.

  After riding for some time, he reined in, unable to believe she’d gone so far. Had she changed her path after the butler watched her leave? He could be riding in the opposite direction of where she was without knowing. She might have returned to the house by now.

  Yet the continuing sense of worry wouldn’t allow him to turn back. With a muttered oath, he decided to go a bit farther before trying another direction.

  The fog in this area was even worse, and the wind made it pointless to call her name. He kept his horse along the edge of the woods with one eye on the field and the other in the trees, his worry steadily building.

  An oddly shaped tree with a large lump along its trunk came into sight, catching his notice. He tipped his head to limit the icy rain striking his face. “Eleanor?”

  The shape moved, as did his heart.

  “Eleanor!” He directed his horse toward the dark form then leapt from the saddle the moment he reached the huddled figure at the base of the tree.

  “Douglas?” Incredulity was clear in her tone despite her chattering teeth. She gripped the edges of her cloak near her neck even as her entire body visibly trembled. “Wh-what are you d-doing here?”

  “Looking for you.” He offered his hand to help her rise, but she made no effort to take it. “Are you hurt?”

  “Only a-a l-little.” Still she didn’t move, only sniffled.

  “A little?” Her lack of clarification didn’t reassure him in the least. He bent low and scooped her into his arms, immediately aware of how damp her cloak was. “You must be chilled to the bone.”

  “I d-didn’t realize how far I’d walked.”

  “You picked a poor afternoon for a stroll.” His remark caused her shoulders to hunch.

  “I didn’t ask you to fetch me. I was on my way back. I only paused to rest my hip.” She pushed at his shoulder with her gloved fist. “I’ll be fine. Put me down.”

  “Don’t be silly.” His concern for her continued to grow and made him grumpy. She wasn’t acting like her normal self.

  “I’m not silly. Not anymore.”

  He frowned at her remark. She’d never been silly—only merry. To him, there was a big difference. He risked a glance at her as he turned toward the horse. The rapid blinking of her eyes alarmed him. Was she about to cry? Because he’d called her silly?

  Women. He didn’t pretend to understand them. But he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he didn’t want her to cry. Especially not because of something he’d said.

  He smothered a frustrated sigh as he lifted her onto the horse to sit sideways then paused to steady her before mounting behind her. He reached for the reins, his heart easing at the feel of her in the circle of his arms. The unsettling sensation of having her right where she belonged filled him.

  Then her words struck him. “You’ve never been silly. But what do you mean, ‘not anymore’?”

  “I’m now known as the dour duchess,” she said after a long moment and several sniffs.

  Outrage swept through him at the thought as he held her closer. The fact that she was no longer shivering wasn’t a good sign as it meant her body had given up trying to warm itself.

  He needed to get her back to the house as quickly as possible. But first, he unfastened his topcoat and wrapped the edges around her, hoping some of his warmth would aid her. He pressed the side of her face against his chest to shield more of her from the sleet pelting them from every direction. The small hat she wore provided little protection.

  “You are not in the least dour. Why would you think such a thing?” He nudged the horse with his knees and the animal quickened its pace, seeming as anxious as Douglas to get out of the weather.

  “It’s been mentioned several times.” Her body shuddered, but it took only a moment to realize it was from her sobs, not shivers. “I d-don’t know why it bothers me so. It shouldn’t make any difference what others think.”

  It didn’t matter to him, but it clearly did to her. And she mattered to him. “You are a duchess and no one should say such things to you.”

  A fierce protectiveness, along with guilt, filled him as she continued to cry. He knew very well it was his fault she’d been labeled the dour duchess. He was the one who was dimming her brightness, stealing her happiness. But he’d never thought his solemn nature could cause her pain.

  He held her tighter as they rode, trying desperately to think of a way to calm her and stop the tears. “I’m sorry,” he said and pressed a kiss to her forehead beneath the narrow brim of her hat. “Just because I’m known as the dour duke doesn’t mean you should share my title.”

  “I hate that name. Why do people say such hurtful things?”

  “Because it’s true.” He gathered his thoughts, trying to decide how much more to say. Her continued sniffs suggested her tears had yet to subside. “Frivolity was not part of my youth. I was taught that duty and responsibility should be approached with seriousness.”

  A long moment of silence met his words. “That must’ve made for a terrible childhood,” she said at last even as she settled more tightly against him.

  “Not really.” He lifted a shoulder though she couldn’t see it. “I didn’t realize my upbringing was different until later in my life.”

  “No climbing trees or swimming in the pond?”

  “No. Though I was taught to swim for my own safety and that of my tenants. In case someone needed rescue.” He had to pitch his voice louder over the howl of the wind, which made him think how ridiculous it was to be having this conversation in the middle of a storm.

  “How sad,” came her muffled reply.

  Sad? He considered the word and admitted there had been a few times when as a young boy he’d indulged in tears. He hadn’t wanted to be a duke and didn’t think it fair that it was being thrust upon him. But lecture after lecture from his grandfather about the honor of the position had buried those thoughts until now.

  He said nothing more and instead focused his attention on arriving back at the house safely and keeping his wife as warm as possible. His black coat was covered in white sleet by the time they arrived. Burbridge and several of the other men were preparing to ride out to help with the search.

  “Thank goodness you found her.” Burbridge took the reins from Douglas so he could dismount. “Are you hurt?”

  Eleanor shook her head but made no move to dismount. Whether she was stiff from the cold or her hip was too sore, he didn’t know. He reached up to take her into his arms.

  “I’ll send servants up with a hot bath,” Burbridge said as a groomsman came forward to take the horse.

  “Thank you,” Douglas said then strode up the stairs. Within moments, he settled her in a chair before the fire in their bedchamber.

  Her maid arrived but Douglas waved her off, preferring to see to Eleanor himself. It seemed the least he could do considering this was his fault. “Please see about the bath and bring some sustenance. Something stronger than tea, please.”

  The maid departed after a worried glance at her mistress.

  Eleanor stared blankly into the flames as he removed her cold, wet cloak then slipped off her bo
ots before beginning on the tiny buttons at the back of her gown. Perhaps he should’ve allowed the maid to deal with this part as he felt inept at undressing his wife. He had little practice. At last, he managed to peel the wet wool from her as her maid returned and fetched a dressing gown to wrap around her, advising them that food and the bath would arrive shortly.

  A servant soon carried in a tray that included a brandy decanter, two glasses, and an array of sandwiches and small cakes. More servants entered with a large copper tub and buckets of steaming water to fill it.

  Soon they were left alone again. But in all this time, Eleanor had said nothing, only nodded thanks to the servants then continued to stare into the fire.

  “Drink this,” he insisted as he handed her a glass with a finger of brandy.

  She took a small sip but finished the rest when he gestured for her to do so.

  “May I...assist you with your bath?” Douglas asked, feeling awkward and wishing he knew what to say to bring back her smile.

  “I can manage.” Eleanor rose and handed him the empty glass, her gaze catching on him. “You’re still in your wet clothes. Don’t you want to get out of those?”

  He glanced down, realizing just how damp and cold his garments were. His valet had set a change on the nearby rack without Douglas having noticed. “Of course.”

  “A hot bath might do you good as well.”

  Douglas could only stare as Eleanor turned her back to him and removed the dressing gown and her thin chemise. His mouth went dry as he drank in the sight of her bare back and perfectly rounded bottom. A red welt was visible on her hip. Anger at himself for allowing that to happen struck. Then she stepped into the tub and sank slowly into the water, eyes closing and head tipping back as she relaxed.

  What did she mean? That he should somehow join her? That he should have a turn when she was done? He poured himself a small measure of brandy and downed it. Then with jerky movements, he started to remove his wet clothes, his mind filling with possibilities. A voice in his head suggested he should keep his distance, but an even stronger voice stated that his wife needed him. And right now, he needed her as well.

  Chapter Six

  Eleanor sighed as the steaming water seeped into her bones, slowly bringing her back to life. She had never been so cold as when Douglas found her. The fact that he’d come to her rescue when she needed him most warmed her more than the brandy or the warm bath.

  He’d been kind and considerate. His apology had surprised her, but his quiet words about his upbringing had shocked her even more. Her heart hurt for that little boy. That was no way to raise a child. Children deserved laughter and fun along with lessons and learning.

  While they should be well behaved, Eleanor also believed they should have time for silliness. Adulthood was harsh enough. What purpose was served by forcing them into that world sooner than necessary? She certainly hoped Douglas didn’t expect their children to have the same solemn childhood he’d had.

  At some point, she needed to raise the subject so they could come to an agreement of sorts. She opened her eyes and listened but couldn’t hear him. A glance over her shoulder showed him removing his linen shirt, revealing his powerful shoulders and broad back. The breath left her lungs in a whoosh. Seeing his bare skin in broad daylight was an entirely different experience than catching glimpses of it in the dying glow of the fire as he left her bedchamber.

  He bent low to remove his boots, giving her a glimpse of the cord of muscle running along his side. The hard work he did with the tenants and on the land had molded his body into a work of art, similar to the sculpted statues she’d seen at various museums. To have the living, breathing version of that was a sight to behold.

  After tugging off his boots, he straightened, still in his trousers, his manner hesitant as if he were uncertain whether he should disrobe completely.

  Her heart pounded as her mouth went dry. Would he actually join her for the bath? At that moment, she wanted him to do so more than she wanted air. He shifted uneasily, and she quickly turned her head so as not to be caught ogling her husband.

  What could she say that would bring him closer? She leaned forward in the water, her hip protesting the movement, and she released a small groan.

  “Are you in pain?” Douglas moved to the tub, clad only in his drawers from what she could see out of the corner of her eye.

  How could she answer coherently when she knew all his delectable nakedness was so near?

  “Nothing serious,” she managed. “My hip is still a bit sore.”

  He moved behind her and his warm hands ran along her aching shoulders, nearly causing her to shudder as a delicious desire filled her.

  “No doubt your muscles are stiff from the cold.”

  She relaxed into his caresses even as her breasts tightened when his breath fanned over her. “That feels heavenly.”

  He worked along her shoulders then her upper arms before moving to her back. She leaned forward to grant him better access, her body heating from the inside out when his touch lowered to her hips under the water. His thumbs worked magic along her sore muscles in more than one way. The painful aches eased even as a different sort of ache began.

  Did he realize how his touch affected her? Did she dare show him? She swallowed hard at the thought. Yet she knew that if she wanted more from their marriage, she had to give more. Any overture on her part carried risk, for he could so easily rebuff it.

  Her internal debate continued, swirling her thoughts. Then she suddenly realized his hands had slowed, gentled. His breath changed slightly. Could he possibly be as aroused as she?

  She bit her lip and reached for his hands that were still on her hips, her fingers tangling with his. Relief filled her when he didn’t pull away. Should she say something or just tug him into the water with her? But they might overflow the tub. How embarrassing that would be.

  She settled for leaning back in the tub then tipping her head up to look up at him. “Will you wash me?”

  His pupils darkened at her request, his entire body still for a long moment. “Of course.”

  He reached for the cloth and soap and shifted to her side. She held one arm out of the water, and he ran the soap along its length, rinsing it carefully with the cloth. Watching the muscles of his chest ripple with each movement was a sensory delight. He repeated the process on the other side then eyed the rest of her.

  She arched her back in invitation, hoping he’d respond the way she wanted him to.

  When he ran the soap over her breasts, she sighed with pleasure, wanting him to know how much she was enjoying his ministrations. Her body pulsed with need, and she moaned when his hands moved lower still as he knelt beside the tub.

  “Your hip?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  She opened one eye. “What hip?”

  His chuckle pleased her more than she could say. He so rarely smiled, let alone laughed. For that, she had to reward him.

  Eleanor wound her dripping arms around him and pulled him close to press her mouth to his while his hand continued its path along her belly then lower still to the apex of her thighs.

  She released his lips with a gasp at the intimate touch even as she held him tight. Spirals of pleasure spun ever higher inside her until she felt as if she stood on the brink of a cliff, barely holding on. “Douglas!”

  “Yes, my sweet. Let go.”

  My sweet? Her heart leapt at the endearment. He’d never called her anything other than her name in the heat of the moment. Those quiet words made her release all the more intense, lending it depth.

  Before her body had slowed its quivering, she rose and held him tight, despite being dripping wet, and kissed him as if her life depended on it. Her hands wandered over him until at last she drew back, her gaze holding his. “Your turn.”

  With a smile, she stepped out of the tub onto a cloth and gestured for him to step in.

  ~*~

  “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that no harm befell your duchess,�
�� Burbridge said as he watched Eleanor across the room that evening.

  “As am I.” Douglas had yet to regain all his faculties since their delightful interlude. His skin heated at the thought of Eleanor’s boldness. And he couldn’t help but press his fingers to his chest at the stirring within. He was beginning to think she was bewitching him.

  Should he be worried that the feelings surfacing inside him would steal his determination? Was he destined to follow in his father’s footsteps and allow a woman to ruin him?

  “The weather took a turn for the worse at the wrong time.” Burbridge shook his head. “Though I must say that resting this afternoon seems to have benefited you both.” Burbridge looked at Douglas with a knowing gleam in his eye. “You appear more relaxed than I’ve ever known you to be.”

  “Oh?” Douglas had no intention of admitting anything even if Burbridge had his suspicions. “Must be this fine brandy you’ve provided.” He lifted his glass which was still half full.

  Who needed spirits when a heady feeling came over him each time he watched his wife?

  He couldn’t deny that her smile and laugh were preferable over her tears earlier. Those had affected him much more than he’d expected. He didn’t care to experience them again.

  She had refused to share further details of what—or who—upset her so, but Douglas was fairly certain he could guess the identity of the person behind them.

  He kept a close eye on Eleanor as the evening progressed, wanting to make damn certain no one offended her in his presence. Especially the annoying Lady Elizabeth.

  When the busybody drew closer to Eleanor, he excused himself from a conversation with Burbridge and Beaumont and walked over to stand beside his wife.

  She looked at him, a puzzled expression on her face. He didn’t say anything, not wanting to imply that she couldn’t take care of herself. His protectiveness toward his wife had yet to wane.

  With a concerted effort, he forced himself to smile.

  “Is something amiss?” Eleanor asked as she stared at him in alarm.

  How ridiculous that showing good humor would cause her to ask that.