He's a Duke, But I Love Him: A Historical Regency Romance (Happily Ever After Book 4)

by Ellie St. Clair

  She lit the candle in the holder and slipped out of her room, pulling the door shut quietly behind her. She tiptoed down the stairs and into the library, where she slowly eased the door open.

  Light from the fire still smoldering in the grate cast a shadowy glow about the room, which was otherwise seemingly empty. Olivia found paper and a quill pen from the writing table in the corner, and took it over to the window seat where she could look out over the street below.

  She started scratching her thoughts on the paper, which she had placed on top of a book as a writing surface.

  “Trouble sleeping?” The voice intruded as she was mid-sentence in her writing, and she jumped with a shriek.

  “Shhh,” Alastair said with a finger to her lips. “You’ll wake Mother and Anne.”

  “My goodness, Alastair, what in the … why would you sneak up on me like that? Do you mean to scare out my soul?”

  He chuckled, his laugh a deep, throaty vibration in her ear.

  “My apologies, love, I did not mean to startle you,” he said, squeezing her shoulder and sending tingles down her spine before going to sit in the leather wingback chair across from her. “What are you working on?”

  “Nothing of any consequence,” she said with a smile. “Simply a list of items I require from my family’s home.”

  He nodded. “Do you miss it?”

  “No,” she said swiftly. “Not the house, anyway. It is horrid, as you noted. I thought I could never miss my mother and her constant nagging, although I feel as if something is now missing in my life without it.” She gave a quick laugh. “My sister and I have never been very close, she a quiet mouse and me … well not as much. My father, however — my father I do miss. He treats me with more respect than most would a daughter. I have always so appreciated that about him.” She smiled wistfully.

  “You should visit him.”

  “I shall,” she said. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

  She actually did have plans to return home tomorrow, though not, she thought guiltily, to visit her father but rather to gather some items she required to carry out her plans. She did, however, hope he would be home.

  “And you?” she asked, “What activities keep you awake at such an hour?”

  “I’ve just returned home,” he said, his face flitting between a somewhat rueful grin and a grimace.

  “Oh,” she said, her own smile faltering. “I suppose I should have gathered that.”

  “Simply an evening at White’s with a few gentlemen,” he said, sweeping his hands out as if it were nothing of consequence. “I am sorry, Olivia.” Alastair’s voice cut through her musings. His tone was quiet, subdued, unlike his usual cheery self.

  “Whatever for?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “For this. For all of this,” he said spanning his hands out in front of him. “For taking advantage of you in a moment of weakness, forcing you into marriage. I know you did not want this.”

  “Nor did you,” she responded with a small, wry smile. “And I believe we both know the role my mother played in orchestrating this match.”

  He nodded but remained silent, though he raised his eyes from his hands, and the jade green orbs looked into hers with an intensity she had not seen since Lady Sybille’s come-out ball. Her breath caught in her throat.

  “Alastair…”

  He reached out a hand and trailed a finger down her cheek, coming to rest on her lips before he caught her chin between his fingers. He stood as if mesmerized, and reached down to her, cupping her face between his hands.

  She couldn’t move. She could hardly breathe as his face inched closer to hers, until he was only an inch away, and she was filled with the scent of sandalwood on his skin and brandy on his breath.

  “I am also sorry,” he whispered, “for being unable to resist again.”

  His eyes caught hers, as if waiting for her to draw back, but instead she swiftly closed the distance between them, pressing her lips firmly to his. His mouth moved over hers softly at first, but swiftly growing with a passion unleashed, and she responded by clutching at him as if she were drowning and he was her lifeline to land.

  No, she told herself. No, no, no. This man was a rake, a charmer who could — and did — seduce any woman he wanted. She was his wife, yes, but she refused to be one of his many conquests. Except … except the feel of his lips on hers, of the way his tongue plundered her mouth, of his hard body pressed up against her, made it far too difficult to push him away. She wanted more of this — wanted more of him and the feelings he stirred up within her.

  His hands slid down her side, one cupping her bottom as he pulled her closer towards him, so she could feel his desire press into her stomach. She moaned, kneading her fingers into the strong biceps that held her close. She had been kissed before, and she had certainly enjoyed her kiss with Alastair at the ball, but she had never been made love to in this way before. She could feel every ounce of passion flowing through to her, and it was intoxicating.

  He bent her backward over the window seat she had been lying upon while writing, stretching himself overtop of her as he trailed his fingers lightly from where they cupped her face down her body, over her breasts, to her hip.

  As she reached up, moving her hand to run her fingers through his silky blond locks, she heard a crinkle and realized she was rolling over the paper she had been writing on earlier. The paper containing her investment ideas for Alastair — for her husband, the man who didn’t trust her, but would take her advice as the financial columnist P.J. Scott.

  Her thoughts refocusing, she realized what she was allowing, what she was asking for, and reached up once more, but this time not to pull her husband closer. Instead, she put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. Caught off balance, he fell off of her, landing on the floor with an “oomph”.

  “Oh, Alastair!”

  She slid off the window seat to kneel beside him on the hard wooden floor. “My apologies! I did not mean to … well, I did mean to push you off, but I didn’t wish for you to fall.”

  He gave a slight groan and put his hand to the back of his head, which had bounced off the floor in his surprise.

  “I suppose it’s my own fault,” he said with a slight grimace. “You were fairly clear you didn’t want … this. I pushed this on you, Olivia, but damn, why must you be so irresistible to me?”

  15

  Her lips, rosy from his kisses, formed a round O, hovering just over his face as she crouched over him in her concern. It was as he had told her — he could not keep himself away from her. When he returned from White’s, he had meant to go to his bedchamber and fall into a quick, dreamless sleep. A sleep without thoughts of a golden haired woman, with a slightly crooked nose and a sly mouth that broke into smile towards him when he did something as simple as pour tea for her in the morning. She haunted his dreams, night and day, and then he had seen her there, sitting in the window seat. The moonlight streaming in through the window highlighted her face, the plait of her hair, and the silhouette of her legs through the thin white material of her nightgown peeking out from beneath her wrapper.

  He had been sitting in the overstuffed leather chair in the far corner when he had seen her enter, find the paper, and begin to write. He had meant to leave the library before she noticed him, to return to his bedchamber and leave her to whatever it was that had so captured her attention. Instead, he had made his way over to her, engaging her in a serious conversation that he should not be having with a woman who was determined to keep their relationship simply cordial.

  But oh, how good she had felt under his hands, how soft, how pliant, and how willing to receive his attentions. He had been so taken aback when she pushed him away that he had completely lost his balance and gone tumbling to the floor. The slight bump on his head was worth it, however, to see her overly concerned face so close to his once more.

  When she said nothing to his admission of how she drew him to her, he continued to sit up until he was back in a respectable
position.

  “I am fine, Olivia, truly,” he said. “You needn’t concern yourself. I offer you my apologies, however. You have been clear in how you feel about our marriage, and I went beyond what you wanted or needed from me.”

  “That is not —”

  “Truly, it is nothing to speak about any longer,” he said, rising to his feet and reaching out a hand to help her stand as well. He stood awkwardly for a moment before, knowing not what else to say, he muttered, “Well, goodnight then.”

  He nodded his head, spun on his heel, and left her standing there gaping after him as he padded over the Oriental rug, out the door, and up the stairs to his chambers.

  Alastair remained on his best behavior with Olivia over the next few days. He was polite and charming, but maintained the facade that kept her from realizing the longing he had for her. He wanted to know her body, to make her his wife in more than word, but she had been adamant as to what she expected of their union.

  Yes, he had more responsibility now than he had been looking for, but despite her words, he found he could not shake the feeling of guilt that followed him from club to club. If he stayed home, however, he would simply be pining for the woman that did not want him. He was caught between two worlds — the bachelor he had been and the married man he was now supposed to be.

  Tonight he was to meet Merryweather and a few of his friends, including Lord Penn and Lord Taylor, at a gentlemen’s club. It was not as fine as White’s nor as seedy as some of the hells, but rather a club for the serious gamblers. His father had been a fan of it, and he was hoping to try to win back some of his debt.

  He left the house without saying goodbye to Olivia, as had been his custom since they had married. She was typically ensconced in her rooms or bent over a book in the library and she no longer asked when or where he was going, so he supposed it did not matter to her whether he stayed in or went out.

  The hour was later than he had planned to arrive when he entered the club. The tables were full, and the gambling was well underway. He searched the room and did not yet see his friends, so decided to gamble himself until such time they arrived. His gaze happened upon an open space. Whist. A slight smile danced around his lips. Was this not his wife’s game rather than his own?

  Fine then, he thought with a laugh, he would see if perhaps he had learned anything from her the night they had renewed their acquaintance. How long ago it seemed, and yet how greatly that simple meeting had changed his entire future.

  He sat without taking a proper look at the rest of the players, instead focused on the drink in front of him. Each man selected a card to determine first play and pairings, and he began to organize his hand as it was dealt to him.

  He surveyed the cards, pursed his lips, and played his chosen card. The second man followed suit. Alastair was continuing to study his own cards when his eyes flicked up to watch the third man make his play.

  The hand that reached out was small for a man, the fingers delicate and the nails neatly trimmed. Alastair looked up to take a closer look at the gambler, who was clad in a dark black jacket over a white linen shirt, his cravat neatly tied and a dark hat situated low over his forehead, hiding his face. Then the man looked up to throw his card … and Alastair froze. They locked eyes, both in complete shock.

  “Alastair! Whatever are you doing here?”

  “Oliv--”

  “Oliver, yes, I’m pleased you remember me! It has been quite some time has it not?” his wife said, quickly recovering her wits as she winked at him — winked at him! — and spoke in a lower tone than her usual alto. He stared back, incredulous. What in the hell was she doing at a gentlemen's club? “I was not aware you would be here this evening, else I …” she noticed the other players turn to look at her. “I would have looked for you sooner,” she finished lamely.

  “Why yes,” he said slowly, unsure of how to react to her being here. He certainly could not make a scene in the middle of the club, but could he allow his wife to remain? “It would have been interesting indeed to know you would be in attendance tonight. Do you often frequent such establishments?”

  “I do like to try my hand at whist when I am able,” she responded, “though it has been some time since I have had the opportunity.”

  The little minx. How long had she been planning an outing such as this? He should have known she was being far too agreeable, too accepting of her new role as mistress of his home. His wife was not a woman who would be content with the domestic duties of most women of her station, that he knew. He almost felt a sense of relief. He had been unsure as to what she had been scheming that had been keeping her attentions occupied. If this was what it had been, well, perhaps it was not so bad.

  What he didn’t like was the look of her breasts flattened against her chest, presumably by linen or some other sort of material. The jacket was wide in the front, providing her room to move and camouflaging her narrow waist and curves. He saw the need for the subterfuge — this was not a place for women, save for the serving girls. He hoped she at least had the sense to have a footman accompany her to this particular establishment, that she had not come alone. Why was she here, at this club, when there were other places to gamble, such as homes of the ton?

  The man to Olivia’s left turned to whisper something in her ear, and she responded with, “Thank you, Billy, I know,” and Alastair felt anger begin to simmer in his belly at the familiarity the man took with her. Who was he, that he knew her well enough to be on a first-name basis? He suddenly realized that he had seen the man before — that night at Lady Atwood’s. He had accompanied Olivia home. What did he mean to his wife? He was well-dressed, clearly a man of some means and Olivia certainly seemed to know him well enough to not only accompany him to this club, but give him secrets she had not deemed important enough to share with her husband.

  Alastair had been charmed by her play-acting, but now his amusement shifted to first annoyance, and then a twinge in his gut. Was this why she wanted nothing to do with him other than their formal marriage arrangement? Did she want another man — love another man? If she could play this game, so could he.

  A serving girl came by, offering a tray of drinks to the gamblers, though from the look she gave him, she would provide him something more, were he interested. He wasn’t, but Olivia was not aware of that. He stared back at the woman a moment too long, gifting her with one of his dimpled smiles, before turning back to the table. Olivia was watching. Good. She narrowed her eyes at him, then returned her concentration to the game at hand.

  It was fortunate they were partners, for Alastair had completely lost his attention on the cards played, such was he distracted by the ridiculous games he was playing with his wife. However, he could not help himself. He was a man lost and utterly at her mercy.

  Somehow they managed to come out ahead by the time the game was over, and Olivia stood up, bid the men thanks, and turned away. Alastair rose to catch her, but her sleek form darted in and out of the crowd, and by the time he found her again, she was already seated at another table, the first hand being dealt. Frustrated, Alastair turned, only to run headlong into a man he well recognized, having spent an entire game of whist staring him down. Olivia’s “Billy.”

  “Your Grace,” the man said with a slight bow, “I do not believe I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance. William Tell.”

  “William Tell,” he responded, with an arch of his eyebrow. “Please tell me, sir, how are you acquainted with my wife?”

  “Ah, the lovely Olivia?” the cad responded with a glint in his eye. “We are childhood friends. We were raised in neighboring estates. My father is the Viscount of Shandol and I’ve only recently returned to town. Olivia needed a partner in her latest adventure and talked me into it.”

  “Indeed.”

  It was not a question. Alastair’s ire had been raised, and he was not pleased by this turn of events. Why had his wife never mentioned the man? Had there been something between them, perhaps even the promise of a
future that was broken by his scandal with her? It would explain much — especially Olivia’s desire for a marriage as a simple arrangement in name alone.

  He had much to discuss with his wife. And he would do so — tonight.

  16

  Olivia was exhilarated. Her plan had been a success. Of course, when she had seen Alastair she had thought it would all be over before it even began, but he had astonished her when he had seemingly gone along with her plan. Although she had to admit if there was a part of the evening that she would choose to forget, it was Alastair’s flirtations with the serving women. It was almost as if he had done it on purpose to spite her.

  She could hardly believe he had chosen the very same club the exact evening as she. She had decided upon this particular club after careful study. She had to ensure that it was not so exclusive that her presence would be remarked upon, however she preferred to attend a club that had a certain degree of respectability — one where she could gamble without the distraction of sin she could not overlook. She had also spent some time reviewing Alastair’s ledgers to determine where his father had created the largest gambling debts.

  Her correspondence with William had taken some days to arrange. He had not been particularly pleased with the idea, but had agreed to escort her when she told him she would go with or without him. It had then only been a matter of returning to her family home to gather the men’s clothing she had left behind from a previous escapade involving a hunt, and managing to extricate herself from Alastair’s house without being seen. Not that she had worried about him discovering her. He was quite uninterested in her whereabouts, or her person in general, with the exception of the few kisses he had stolen when she was apparently conveniently available to him.