A Duchess to Remember

by Christina Brooke

  Afterwards, they lay in the waning sunshine together, naked, slicked with sweat. Cecily stared up at the canopy above her and smiled at nothing in particular.

  “It will be better next time,” he said, on a note of reassurance.

  She laughed at that, though she knew what he meant. “How could it be better?”

  He turned his head on the pillow to look at her. Those golden eyes of his narrowed with amusement. “I shall take great delight in showing you. Tomorrow, when you are rested,” he murmured.

  He drew her into the protective circle of his arm and they both drifted to sleep.

  * * *

  Rand woke in the middle of the night with the miracle of Cecily beside him and an aching hardness in his loins. He wanted her again.

  No, that would be barbarous. He would simply look at her and marvel that she was his at last.

  Having her in his bed, finally possessing her, loving her, was unlike any feeling he’d ever known. He’d pursued her with such single-minded determination that he’d given little thought to more mundane considerations.

  Ought he to allocate a bedchamber to her? He supposed he must. Yet, he wanted her to sleep every night in his bed. As a husband, he had the right to command it. And yet, knowing Cecily, nothing would be as simple as that.

  Something else that was not at all simple: How the hell was he going to tell her what he ought to have told her from the start?

  Well, if not from the beginning, at least before she’d agreed to marry him.

  But there’d been no time for second thoughts or hesitation once she’d accepted him. The thought of Jonathon hadn’t crossed his mind, not once, since he’d received that ridiculous letter from Norland. Even if it had, he was not good enough at self-deception to believe it would have made a difference. He couldn’t risk telling her the truth in case he lost her, yet again.

  He watched her there, with a delicate hand pressed to the pillow supporting her cheek, dark lashes fanning against her creamy skin, those delicious red lips parted slightly, the glossy, dusky curls tumbling all over. He wanted to give her the moon and the stars, everything she wanted, more than she’d ever dreamed.

  And he decided then and there that he would not tell her about Jonathon. Not until he could give Cecily her brother back, too.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was some days before Cecily turned her mind to the world beyond Ashburn House’s front door.

  Her betrothal to Norland and subsequent marriage to Ashburn had created an awful lot of speculative whispers among the ton. Not that a Westruther cared for that, of course. And no one would dare do more than whisper. Ashburn would not take kindly to slurs cast on his duchess and everyone knew he was not a man to cross.

  So Cecily did what any Westruther would do when faced with public curiosity and censure. She threw a party.

  A ball, to be exact. The most anticipated ball in the history of balls.

  “I have set it about that I’ve invited Norland and his new bride,” said Cecily gaily as she dragged Rand around the florist’s. “They will all come to see the sparks fly. Won’t they be disappointed when we turn out to be completely amicable and ridiculously in love with our chosen spouses?”

  Rand raised an eyebrow. “Ridiculously?”

  She stood on tiptoe to kiss his aristocratic nose. “Utterly, madly, reprehensibly, irrevocably in love.”

  “Exactly how much is this costing me?” said Rand, sounding supremely indifferent.

  “I shall provide you with a faithful account,” Cecily promised.

  He waved a hand. “No, please don’t. I don’t think my heart can stand the shock.”

  The ball was a huge crush, which meant it was an enormous success. Cecily had never managed to get to Cambridge, but she was gratified to hear her meddling had done the trick: Tibby made no demur on the grounds of loyalty when Norland claimed her hand.

  “You ought to have warned me off him ages ago,” said Cecily now. “If I’d had the least idea, my dearest Tibby, I would never have held buckle and thong to our engagement. I deserve to be horsewhipped for such insensitivity.”

  “How can you say so, dearest Cecily?” said Tibby, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of a pristine handkerchief. “Indeed, my only consolation is that you have found happiness, too.”

  She looked over at Rand. “So handsome and distinguished!”

  Yes, thought Cecily, no other man present could match her husband in looks and sheer force of character. He cast them all into the shade.

  He certainly made his cousin Freddy look nervous and ill at ease, as if his cravat were too tight and his coat did not fit him properly across the shoulders.

  “Tibby, will you excuse me? I need to rescue that poor boy.”

  She arrived in time to hear Rand say, “Ah, Freddy! There you are. I knew you’d be among the first to wish me happy.”

  The comment was scathingly ironic, given that Freddy might have harbored expectations of stepping into Rand’s shoes someday. Unreasonable though it might have been to suppose Rand would remain single, or if he did marry, his wife would not bear a son, it was still a possibility that a young man might hope for in his more selfish and optimistic moments.

  Clearly, Rand had not yet forgiven Freddy for the incident in the library on the night of the masquerade. Cecily had tried to explain that to Rand but she sensed his hostility ran deeper than the events of that night might warrant. She could not count herself successful in mending that bridge, but she had not given up trying.

  Cecily smiled warmly at her husband’s cousin. “Delightful to see you again, Freddy. I trust you are dancing this evening? I see that Miss Trescott has just arrived. Perhaps you would care to ask her to dance?”

  Freddy immediately hightailed it off to form part of the latest beauty’s court, leaving Cecily with Rand. “Shall we take a short turn on the terrace? I wish to speak with you.”

  He bowed and offered her his arm and escorted her outside.

  “It would not kill you to be kinder to the boy,” she murmured as they strolled beneath colored lanterns bobbing in the breeze.

  He glanced down at her. “You are settling into your new role as wife rather well, aren’t you, my dear? But yes, I suppose you are right. If he were from another family, his follies wouldn’t bother me half as much. It is my prejudice that so often magnifies his faults.”

  “Prejudice?” She considered that. “I know Freddy’s mama is … well, perhaps not the most congenial of ladies.…” She broke off, unwilling to be critical of Rand’s family.

  He stopped at the balustrade and braced his hands upon it, looking out at the rolling vista that undulated down to the river.

  “Why do you dislike your family so much?” she asked. “You always seem so alone.”

  He sighed. “It is a long and tedious story, but I will try to give you the short version. When my parents died, I was a babe, as you know. So of course, my paternal relatives stepped in, in loco parentis.”

  “I see,” said Cecily. “Did you go to live with them?”

  “No, I was brought up all alone at Anglesby. Well, as alone as a child can be with an army of servants, and several nurses and nannies to see to his needs.”

  “Poor little boy,” said Cecily softly.

  “Oh, nonsense!” said Rand sardonically. “I daresay I must have been the luckiest infant alive. No expense was spared to entertain me.”

  With a wry smile, he shrugged. “I had adults vying for my favor from far too young an age. What I needed was love, of course. I was so hungry for it that I imagined it into being where it never was. I suffered disappointment after disappointment. My relations treated me like a pawn to be played with, not a child who needed affection.”

  He paused a moment. “If I seem isolated, it is because I never was able to trust anyone’s motives after that. I have Garvey and perhaps a handful of friends and a wide circle of acquaintances. But I have not trusted anyone with my heart again. Not until you.”

 
; Cecily stared up at him. Now she knew where that pain and loneliness she’d sensed inside him came from. She stared into his eyes and willed him to understand. Her love would never be conditional on what he could do for her or his material possessions, his power and prestige.

  But she did not need to tell him. He understood all that. And that was why he trusted her with his heart.

  Their lovemaking that night seemed to have an added poignancy. After a long struggle, both of them had finally released their fears and doubts. Their connection went deeper, each caress touched their hearts, each sigh came from their souls. Rand did things to her that she would never have dreamed she’d allow, much less enjoy.

  And with that newfound trust came confidence. Cecily turned wanton, reckless, powerful in her sensuality, a challenge and a spur to him in bed as she was in every other arena. They drove each other to new heights of passion, soaring above the world, until they found bliss together as one.

  As dawn reached across the sky and the chill nipped at their toes, Rand barely retained the strength to pull the covers over them.

  Cecily snuggled close, all soft, pleasured sighs and drowsy feminine warmth. She seemed disinclined to talk, and indeed, words would be inadequate to express the emotions they’d just shared. He was content to let that perfect communion of their bodies speak for them both.

  As his eyelids grew heavy, Rand realized he could not remember ever feeling so sated and at peace before. Smiling to himself, he played with the unruly corkscrews of Cecily’s hair until her deep, steady breathing told him she had fallen asleep. Then he followed her into slumber.

  Some hours later, Rand opened his eyes with a vague sense that something in the room’s atmosphere had shifted.

  A movement from the corner of the bedchamber made him sit up abruptly. He glanced at Cecily to see if he’d woken her, but she slumbered on.

  It took a while for his eyes to focus on the figure in the corner of the room. Sunlight streamed through the window behind him, making it harder to recognize detail.

  “Jonathon?” Rand breathed. “Is that you?”

  * * *

  Though he knew the truth, had known it all along, Rand was as shocked to see his old colleague as if he’d seen a ghost.

  “Jesus!” He was in bed with the man’s sister! Did Jonathon know it was Cecily lying there beside him? There’d be hell to pay if she woke.

  Moving as quickly and quietly as possible, Rand snatched up breeches and a dressing gown and put them on.

  With another quick glance at Cecily’s sleeping form, he motioned to Jonathon to follow him into his dressing room.

  “We have to be quick,” he said softly. “My valet will come in at any moment.”

  He took stock of Cecily’s brother, a man who was supposed to have died some years ago in a laboratory fire. He was gaunt and pale, but with the same dark hair and large brown eyes that Cecily possessed.

  “You don’t look too bad for a corpse,” said Rand.

  “Much obliged,” replied Jonathon, his face relaxing a little.

  The subtle gleam of humor left his eyes, and his mouth turned grim. “I had word someone was looking for me, Ashburn. No one has looked for me for a very long time.”

  “Do you know who?”

  Jonathon shrugged. “No names. You know how that goes.”

  “Whom do you suspect?” said Rand. “Who knows about you besides me?”

  “If you’ve told no one, that leaves Cousin Bertram,” said Jonathon. “And he has every reason to want me to stay in hiding.”

  And every reason to want Jonathon truly dead, Rand thought.

  “You haven’t told anyone, have you, Ashburn?” murmured Jonathon with a hint of menace. “I heard you married my sister. I suppose you felt you had to tell her, did you?”

  When Rand didn’t answer, Jonathon hissed between his teeth. “Ah, hell, Ashburn! No woman could keep a secret like that.”

  His body rigid with fury, Rand said, “When I think of the hell I’m going to get when she finds out, I resent that remark, Davenport.”

  A shaken voice spoke from behind him. “J-Jonathon? Jon?”

  Rand was just in time to catch Cecily as she collapsed in the dressing room doorway.

  * * *

  Revived and fortified with brandy and a cup of strong, sugary tea, Cecily sat huddled under a blanket, watching her brother with a disorienting feeling, as if it were all part dream, part déjà vu.

  She had laughed and cried and hugged Jon until he laughingly begged her to let him catch his breath. She could not stop touching him, framing his beloved face with her hands. She could not stop looking at him and trying to imagine what it must have been like for him all these years.

  Her anger and resentment she reserved for Rand.

  They’d explained it all to her: the need for Jonathon’s disappearance, the lie about his death. She’d barely listened or been able to grasp the details. He was alive. Flesh-and-blood Jonathon. He was here with her. She wanted to keep hugging him, to keep at least one hand on him at all times to make sure he was real.

  It seemed that Jonathon had invented a volatile explosive that could have revolutionized military warfare if only some practical way could be found to stabilize it.

  Horrified that a purely academic exercise had handed him the power to destroy so many lives at once, Jonathon had found himself caught in a tug-of-war between the government and darker forces who wanted that formula. Both sides wanted to use the explosive to kill on a massive scale. Jonathon couldn’t live with the idea that he might have invented such a deadly weapon.

  Then he’d had the idea of disappearing and taking the knowledge with him. But he needed some contact with the world he’d left behind. He needed one person to know and to help him destroy all evidence of his work. That person had been Rand.

  Rand had known. All this time, Rand had known that Jonathon was alive and he hadn’t told her. The deep, immense anger Cecily felt toward her husband could not find expression now. Not when there were vitally important things to attend to.

  Such as bringing her brother back from the dead.

  “But if you resurface now, how will that help us?” said Rand. “Even after all these years, won’t they be after you again?”

  “Ah. Well, you see, that is where our friends at the Promethean Club come in,” said Jonathon. “In fact, it was your idea, Ashburn. You tried to persuade me to do this years ago.”

  Rand ran his hand through his hair. “It will be career suicide.”

  Jonathon gave a bitter laugh. “What career do I have now?”

  “What are you going to do?” asked Cecily.

  “The plan I proposed was to discredit Jonathon’s research,” said Rand. “It was only ever a rumor that got out of hand in the first place. We will have experts say that the research is faulty, that the formula simply doesn’t work.”

  Jonathon looked at the ceiling, stony-faced. Cecily knew how difficult it must be for him to have his work dissected and torn to pieces like that, but if it would bring him home …

  She said, “When can we start this process?”

  Ashburn nodded. “I’ll take care of it today.”

  He eyed Jonathon, carefully avoided Cecily’s regard. “The two of you should take some time to talk, but don’t let anyone see you, Jonathon. We are not out of the woods yet.”

  * * *

  Cecily thought she must have terrified her brother with her incoherence and her need to touch him, as if he would disappear again if she didn’t keep him physically anchored to the spot in some way.

  She was not at all herself, and he had changed in ways she could only guess at during his long exile. “But I kept your letter by me, always,” he said. “You know the one about Sir Ninian Finian?”

  Misty-eyed, Cecily nodded. So that was why she could not find it among all those letters. If only she’d known.

  If only they’d trusted her.

  Oh, she supposed she could understand why Jonathon had no
t wanted to burden an eleven-year-old with his secret. But later … Why hadn’t Rand told her?

  Jonathon said, “I can scarce believe it. You married to Ashburn!”

  “Yes.” She tried to smile. “Yes, it does seem rather difficult to believe, doesn’t it?”

  He looked a little grim. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

  She was no longer at all certain herself, but she said lightly, “Well, I couldn’t very well ask your permission, could I?”

  “What happened to old Norland, then?” said Jonathon.

  “He is not old,” she said, from habit, then put her fingertips to her temples. “Norland fell in love with my governess, Miss Tibbs. You don’t know her,” she assured Jonathon as his brow puckered. “But truly, dear brother, it all turned out for the best.”

  Had it? Had it really? Her heart ached at Rand’s betrayal.

  When Jonathon took his leave, he placed his hands on her shoulders and pressed his lips to her forehead the way he’d done so many years ago.

  “Courage, little one. With luck and Ashburn’s good management, we’ll push through.”

  She could not bear to let him go, but the servants were stirring, getting ready for the day. They couldn’t hide him in the house indefinitely.

  Cecily flung her arms around her brother’s gaunt frame, surreptitiously dashing hot tears away before he could see them. “Yes, you must go. I cannot tell you how much I long for your return to us. I hope we will not have too long to wait.”

  She hugged him hard and kissed both his cheeks, then hugged him again.

  He patted her shoulder. “All will be well, little one. You’ll see.”

  Rand stood in the doorway, waiting to escort her brother out. Cecily knew he watched her, waiting for a sign that he was forgiven. She couldn’t give it. She simply couldn’t bring herself to forgive him for his lie.

  Rand left on his mission without a private word to her. He hadn’t even attempted to justify his actions. She didn’t know whether that was to his credit or not. She couldn’t think of any excuse he might give that would satisfy her in any case.