Heir to the Duke (The Duke's Sons #1)

by Jane Ashford

  He grinned at her as he spotted one of the largest coaching inns ahead. Pulling up, he turned into its yard. His team could do no more until they had a real rest.

  A hostler came to the horses’ heads. Nathaniel jumped down and handed over the reins, then turned to help Violet descend. On the long step from the phaeton’s seat, she wavered. He put his hands on either side of her waist and lifted her down, breathing in the sweet scent she always wore. For a moment, they faced each other, very close. It would be so easy to bend and kiss her.

  Another carriage clattered in. They drew apart.

  It was a busy afternoon, with a steady stream of travelers, and the innkeeper had no private parlor available. He did have a dining area set aside for “genteel folk” however, so they weren’t forced to sit in the taproom. When Nathaniel would have apologized for the bustle and noise, Violet said, “It’s an adventure.” Her expression was bright as she watched the servitors maneuvering loaded trays, the three children in the corner driving their mother to distraction, the man nearby shoveling food into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

  Another woman might have complained, Nathaniel thought. Even his mother probably would have. The din was prodigious. Violet’s grandmamma…it didn’t bear thinking of. But Violet had such a…zest for new experiences. It gave the most mundane surroundings a kind of boost. “Are you hungry?”

  She turned to him, eyes alight with interest. “Desperately. I’ve eaten nothing since…” She faltered for some reason, then recovered. “What shall we have?”

  Nathaniel caught the attention of one of the hurrying servants and ascertained their choices. They settled on roast beef and potatoes with some late-season peas and a bit of apple pie to finish. Upon recommendation, he sampled a mug of the inn’s own ale; Violet settled on a glass of red wine. Nathaniel suspected it would not be the finest vintage, but he didn’t think she would care.

  The crowded room made serious conversation impossible. But Nathaniel found that he didn’t mind this in the least. With the small size of their lodgings, they were always in each other’s pockets. He sometimes missed the sort of large house he was used to, with plenty of private space. And just lately… But why think of that? The…misunderstanding seemed to have passed off. He sat back, sipped his ale, and enjoyed Violet’s fascination with the surrounding scene.

  They drove back in the evening, timing it to arrive at the livery stable Nathaniel patronized just before darkness fell. No one was likely to be lurking in their lodgings at this hour. They walked the short distance home arm in arm, and entered the place more in harmony with each other than they’d been in days.

  As soon as he walked into the parlor, Nathaniel noticed the pile of letters on the table by the window. He could recognize Sebastian’s and Robert’s handwriting from across the room, and others were hidden beneath these visible missives. The envelopes called to him to be opened. They’d already been sitting for…a day? Longer? It was his invariable habit to read his family’s communications immediately, to respond to the questions and commissions inside.

  “You have letters,” Violet said, following his gaze. Which was a foolish remark; obviously, he saw them. With a sinking heart, she waited for him to go to the desk and bury himself in whatever messages they contained. He would…not forget her existence. That wasn’t fair. But he would become too distracted by the doings of his family to pay her much heed. And so their pleasant time together was ended.

  But he turned away from the desk, put his hat and driving gloves on a table. “I’ll look at them later.”

  For a moment she didn’t take it in. She could see that the letters pulled at his attention. “You aren’t going to read them?”

  “Tomorrow is time enough.”

  She saw that he meant it, and was filled with elation. Of course, she didn’t want Nathaniel to neglect his family duties. But just this once to be put first! Before he could change his mind, or recall the awkwardness that had plagued them recently, Violet went over and threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you for the adventure,” she said, and kissed him.

  He caught her in his arms and pulled her tight against him, taking the kiss and deepening it to dizzying intensity. “To many more,” he murmured when they at last drew apart.

  “I want to ride in your phaeton every day,” she declared, breathless. “It was wonderful.”

  “You may ride whenever you like, for as long as you like,” he replied.

  The heat in his voice, his look, gave the words heady layers of meaning. Violet felt as if she’d been suddenly dipped in sweet flame. “May I?” she whispered close to his ear.

  Still holding her close, Nathaniel began to move toward the bedchambers. Violet held on, her cheek on his shoulder, half walking backward, half-letting him bear her along. Their legs interlaced and parted—again, again—fabric shifting and rustling with tantalizing effect.

  A single shielded candle burned in her room. Nathaniel released her to kindle more. Violet admired the grace of his broad-shouldered figure as golden light grew. She was trembling with yearning, a need that was almost painful. Finding the strings of her bonnet tangled and knotted, she fumbled with them.

  Nathaniel turned to look at her. His blue eyes burned, the way they did when he was aroused. Violet could feel them on her, like feather brushes of fire. She ripped the ties off her hat and tossed it aside. “Whoever is naked first wins,” she declared.

  Nathaniel’s smile flashed in the soft illumination. “Wins what?” he asked, voice rough with desire.

  Violet slipped out of her shoes and began unbuttoning her gown. “Whatever she wants.”

  “She?” He sat on the bed, but he appeared to pay more attention to the slither of her dress to the floor than to pulling off his boots.

  “Well, I am not sure he is trying very hard,” Violet said.

  “Oh, he is…hard.” Nathaniel stood and shrugged out of his greatcoat.

  Violet could see what he meant. A feverish hunger drove her; any lingering shyness shriveled to ash before it. She had to be rid of her clothes. She stepped out of her petticoat and pushed her stockings down, kicking them off. Her breath came faster. “Are you letting me win?” she asked as he dropped his shirt beside them.

  “I don’t think there will be any losers here tonight.”

  She laughed, turning. “Will you untie my stays? I cannot reach…”

  “You wish me to help you win the wager?” he queried, even as he did as she asked.

  “I do what I must to have you at my mercy.” The stays dropped.

  “A prospect that fills me with…”

  Violet skimmed out of her shift.

  “…anticipation.” Nathaniel shed his pantaloons.

  They stood revealed to each other, skin washed with candlelight, flushed with desire. Violet’s pulse pounded at the glorious sight of him. She wondered if she would be able to speak. She had to clear her throat. “Lie on the bed.”

  Smiling, he obeyed, reclining on his back, arms crossed beneath his head.

  Violet took a step, another. Inches from the bed, she put her hands on his calves and moved them slowly upward. The hitch in his breath delighted her, as did his murmur of disappointment when she let her palms slide to the coverlet on either side of his hips.

  She climbed onto the bed and set a knee on each side of his. When he reached for her, she said, “You mustn’t move.”

  His hands stopped inches from her thighs. “Am I not to…touch you?”

  She was already so aroused she could scarcely bear it. Holding his hot blue gaze, Violet slowly shook her head. He drew his hands away. Bending a little forward, she let her fingers roam over his chest and strong upper arms, the ridged muscle of his torso. When he groaned out her name, she could wait no longer. She scooted a little forward and took him inside her.

  The pleasure of it made her back arch. Her breath escaped in a long sigh. And then she moved—just as she wished to, just as felt most glorious.

  Nathaniel
ran his hands up her ribs and cupped her breasts, teasing and caressing. But she’d forgotten her orders by this time. She was lost in sensation, in the power of evoking the pleasure she saw in his face.

  It rose at her command, as she moved. And rose. Rose. She never wanted it to end, and she was desperate to reach that exquisite peak. And then she was there, shattering. She rode the waves of it while Nathaniel cried out his own release.

  Panting, Violet collapsed onto her husband’s chest. He wrapped her in his arms. Their hearts pounded together—a frantic drumbeat, gradually slowing with the calming of their breath.

  Violet started to pull away, but Nathaniel held on. He kissed her neck, her shoulder. She raised her head and offered her lips, which he gladly took.

  Their kisses were soft and tender, the sweet aftermath of desire. They were so beautiful that tears thickened Violet’s throat—inexplicable until she realized that she had come to love her husband most desperately, and all she wanted from the world was for him to love her as well. Drugged with pleasure, she almost said so. And then the events of the last few days came crashing back over her. If he ever found out that she was a fraud…

  “What?” said Nathaniel.

  Unconsciously, she’d stiffened, Violet realized. She relaxed, but slipped over to lie beside him, safe in the circle of his arm.

  Once again, she told herself that there was no reason for a secret kept so long to come out. She needed to fix this truth in her mind, to believe it. She would drop the whole matter. She must forget that she’d ever heard the truth. “Nothing,” she murmured.

  Nathaniel’s breathing had slowed. No doubt tired from his long drive, he’d fallen asleep.

  Violet watched his chest gently rise and fall. Fierce determination filled her. She had made mistakes. She might face difficulties she’d brought on herself. But nothing, no one, would take this away from her. No matter what she had to do.

  Fourteen

  Brimming with a sense of well-being, Nathaniel read his letters over breakfast. They held no surprises, being the usual combination of little news and many requests. He felt the pull to begin a list, consider how he might fulfill his brothers’ appeals, but he resisted it. He wasn’t going to run about on their errands—not today, or tomorrow—not while he could spend the time as he had yesterday. Having fun.

  And really, his brothers expected a great deal. Some of their pleas he meant to refuse outright, or turn off with a joke. For example, Randolph’s admonition that the churchman he’d found was not the sort of bishop he was looking for at all. Nathaniel meant to ask him if there were ways to tell one bishop from another. Did they have markings, like waterfowl? And then he would let his brother know that he intended to leave such identification to an expert—that is, Randolph himself.

  At least his admiral seemed to have turned the trick; James even thanked him. Clearly, in James’s years away at sea, he’d forgotten that his eldest brother was designed to be at his service and did not require polite acknowledgments. Nathaniel chuckled at his own silent jest. “James says that the young ladies Ariel is presenting to him as attractive matches are ‘colorless,’” he said to Violet.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I have no idea. He told her he was ready to wed a wellborn English girl. And I’m certain Ariel chose charming candidates.”

  “Wellborn,” she repeated, her tone a bit odd. “That’s all he asked for?”

  “Oh, I’m certain he wants beauty and a sunny temper and a tidy fortune as well.” Nathaniel smiled to show he was joking.

  Her laugh sounded half-hearted.

  “Ariel will see that he shows proper respect,” he assured her. “She is quite the stern matchmaker.”

  “She helped Sebastian with Lady Georgina Stane,” Violet said. “She comes from a…a fine old family.”

  “A somewhat eccentric one, if his letters are any indication,” Nathaniel replied. Rising, he stored the envelopes in a cubbyhole of the writing desk. “But very ancient, yes.” When he returned to his cup of coffee, he was puzzled by Violet’s expression. He put a hand over hers on the table. “Are you well?”

  “Perfectly well.” She sat a bit straighter and smiled.

  He squeezed her fingers. “You certainly look well—delectable, in fact.”

  Her smile warmed, and her eyes lit with soft reminders of last night.

  The physical side of marriage had turned out so remarkably well for them, Nathaniel thought. Tremendously, really. He was a lucky man. He must remember just how lucky when they disagreed. Why had he thought he needed to hear every detail of her conversation with her mother? It was her business, her family. He certainly had private communications with his own, things his brothers did not wish shared, even with a wife. Perhaps Lady Moreley’s confidences had been embarrassing, or troublesome. But whatever the case, he had no need to hear them. Violet’s grandmother had much to answer for—and was irrelevant to their future life. He would never mention the matter again, proving that he was not an interfering sort.

  A smile crossed his face. Her mother—all the Deveres in England—had nothing to do with the connection between them, as last night had so vividly demonstrated. Females were a marvelous mystery, but he knew when a woman was truly transported, and last night…Violet had been. How he looked forward to going on more adventures together.

  Her hand stirred under his.

  “You…you aren’t going to answer your letters? You always do so right away.”

  “I am not. They contain nothing pressing.” He thought of repeating the joke about bishops. But why talk of his brothers at all? “Rochford invited me to see a race this morning. All high-perch phaetons, a winding course with tight turns, and some of the finest whipsters in the Four Horse Club.”

  “Rochford,” Violet said. “You are…renewing your old acquaintance with him?”

  “I’m riding along with him. I would invite you to come, but it is to be all men.”

  “Not driving your new equipage then?”

  “No. But I assure you, you will have many other opportunities to…ride.”

  The gaze they exchanged then seemed to heat the air between them. Violet turned her hand over and interlaced her fingers with his. “Good,” she said.

  A brisk knock on the parlor heralded the entry of Furness. “I do not mean to disturb you, my lady…”

  These days, any exchange with her lady’s maid that began with those words meant precisely the opposite, Violet thought. “Yes, Furness?”

  “Mr. Cates has stolen my set of curling irons,” she complained.

  Violet saw Nathaniel glance at the mantel clock, obviously plotting escape. As who wouldn’t upon hearing such a ridiculous accusation? And indeed, he said, “I must leave this in your capable hands.”

  “Must you?”

  He gave her the smile that melted more than her heart. “You are so much better with such matters than I. Designed by birth and training to rule the household.”

  Wherever the conversation turned, it seemed to come down to lineage, Violet thought despairingly. “I’ll do my duty, then,” she answered with a valiant attempt at lightness.

  Nathaniel offered her a small, ironic bow and departed.

  Violet turned to her irate attendant. “What would Cates want with curling irons?” she asked. “He has no use for them.”

  “Only to spite me, my lady, and make it seem I can’t do my job properly. Like he hid the key to your jewel box, so I’d have to hunt high and low through the place. As if I’d ever put it in with your stockings! Plaguing me. That’s all he thinks of, day and night.”

  Violet hid a sigh. “Well, let us go and see.”

  Cates naturally denied all knowledge of the curling irons. Contempt for Furness dripped from his voice when he suggested, “No doubt she put them down someplace and forgot, my lady. She’s that flighty and scatterbrained.”

  “I did not!” snapped Furness. “I left them by the hearth to cool. I remember perfectly well. I’m not an old
man with a failing memory.”

  Cates sputtered with outrage. He was, Violet knew, not yet five and thirty, despite his staidly correct demeanor. Only nine years older than Furness.

  But despite a thorough search, joined by the landlady’s servants, the curling irons could not be found.

  Violet sent Furness out to purchase new ones. Once the dresser was out of the way, she tried to smooth Cates’s ruffled feathers. But despite his polite expression, she could tell that he wasn’t mollified. “That young lady exists to sow discord and make herself important,” he said when she’d finished. His bow as he left her was stiff.

  Something had to be done about the continual friction between these two, Violet thought. When Furness had first come, it had seemed all right. But now they seized upon any excuse to fling accusations at each other. She didn’t understand what had gone wrong. She was going to have to figure it out though. This couldn’t go on.

  An odiously familiar voice boomed up the front stairs. “There is no need to tell her I’m here, my girl. I’m…family.”

  Violet sprang up to flee, perhaps hide herself in the bedroom wardrobe, but the dowager countess came stalking in before she’d taken more than two steps. The old woman marched over to the sofa and sat down in her customary pose, leaning forward, both hands folded over the top of her ebony cane. Her eyes pinned Violet as if she was a specimen butterfly. “Harriett told me about your bullying, of course,” she said. “She’s never been able to keep the least thing from me. Had no spine even when she was a reckless girl.”

  Violet felt as if her insides had frozen. A forlorn inner voice wailed, “Oh, Mama!”

  “Did you imagine the servants wouldn’t notice you’d gone out together?” The dowager’s voice was contemptuous. “Renshaw let me know of it at once.”

  “Still doing her old job then,” Violet said bitterly. “Spying on me.”

  Her visitor looked her up and down. “That gown is entirely too low cut.”

  “You have nothing to say about what I wear. Any longer.”

  “Indeed.”

  It didn’t sound like agreement. Violet waited uneasily for more, but the woman she’d known all her life as her grandmother merely stared at her. Finally she could bear it no longer. “Why must you be this way?”