The Reluctant Duchess

by Sharon Cullen

A few visitors brought their daughters, who were all of marriageable age and looking to hook a duke. The daughters glanced around wide-eyed, no doubt measuring the windows for the curtains they would put up if they were the next Duchess of Rossmoyne.

  Stop it, Sara. You’re being uncharitable. For goodness’ sake, you don’t even know these girls. They could be very nice.

  Maybe. But they all seemed to have only air between their ears and no original thought in there at all. She couldn’t see Ross with any of them. He would be miserable.

  Eventually, as it had all afternoon with the various groups of callers, the conversation turned to the upcoming ball hosted by the Earl and Countess of Plainfield.

  “Will you and your son attend?” one particularly eager mother asked Elizabeth. The woman’s daughter looked sick and hopeful at the same time. She had yet to say anything. Sara feared the girl would collapse in a swoon if the duke were to enter.

  “I’m certain I can persuade the duke to attend,” Elizabeth was saying.

  Sara looked at her in surprise for she was certain the duke would rather have a tooth pulled than attend a ball. But of course she didn’t say anything. It wasn’t her place, and it wasn’t as if she were invited. So if Elizabeth and Ross attended, Sara would be left behind to wonder which of these mothers were foisting their daughters upon Ross.

  Stop it, Sara. It’s none of your concern. This is not like you at all.

  No, it wasn’t, and she was disappointed in herself. She acted as if she was listening, but her mind kept wandering to the morning she’d spent with Ross. She didn’t remember having such a deep conversation with another man. There were depths to Ross that she had never imagined.

  “Sara?”

  Sara looked up, pulled from her thoughts by Elizabeth, who was standing at the door. The room was empty. No more matchmaking mamas and their too-young-for-Ross daughters. No one except Sara and Elizabeth.

  “Yes?”

  “You were woolgathering.” Elizabeth walked to a chair and sank into it. “As you have been all afternoon.” There was censure in her voice, and Sara knew she had disappointed Ross’s mother on more than one front.

  “Forgive me, Your Grace. Socializing is not…I’ve never been that good at making small talk. I never seem to know what to say.”

  Elizabeth looked at her shrewdly. “Is it that, or have you been thinking of your morning with my son?”

  Sara could feel her face heat in a fierce blush. “Your Grace, I can assure you—”

  Elizabeth held up her hand. “Normally, Ross’s business is not my concern unless it will grievously affect the Rossmoyne name, but in this I must step forward. I see the way you look at Ross, and I feel I must counsel you. Nothing good can come of your feelings for him.”

  Was she that transparent? And if Elizabeth saw, had Ross as well? Montgomery? Anyone else? Sara was mortified that the duchess had guessed her feelings for Ross even before she had allowed them free rein in her mind. Oh, how humiliating. Maybe it was best if she moved back to the hotel.

  “Whatever it is you think you saw, you are mistaken,” Sara said. “Ross and Mr. Montgomery are helping me with a…situation. There is nothing more to it than that. You have my word.”

  She stood and, with head held high, walked out of the room, purposely not allowing the duchess a chance to speak. It was probably rude, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to hear how unsuitable she was for Ross, because she already knew that. He needed a duchess who was vibrant and who sparkled in social situations. Sara was quite clearly not that. He needed someone with social ties, and while her family once had that, they hadn’t been active in society for two years. People tended to move on and forget. Sara’s family had lost all the ties that a powerful duke would need.

  She knew that, but she didn’t want to hear it. And she certainly didn’t want the duchess to think that she had feelings for Ross—even if it might be true.

  Chapter 15

  It had taken all of Sara’s nerve to go down to dinner that night, only to find that Ross wasn’t eating with them. The duchess kept the conversation light, mainly about those who visited earlier that day. She made some attempt to get Sara to go calling with her the next day, but Sara murmured that she had no idea what her schedule would be. After the debacle of the afternoon, she was surprised Elizabeth would even ask her along.

  After dinner, as they were walking out of the dining room, the duchess stopped Sara with a touch on the arm. “I fear I may have bungled our conversation earlier today. I don’t want you to think—”

  Sara shook her head, not wanting to go back to that again. “I understand what you’re saying. Please know that I’m not like those girls who visited today. I didn’t come here with the purpose of becoming the next Duchess of Rossmoyne. There is no possible way I could leave Hadley Springs or my father.”

  The duchess lightly squeezed her arm. “What about you, Sara? You cannot attend to your father for the rest of his life.”

  “Someone has to.”

  “That is what your mother is for.”

  But her mother had left them and, in doing so, had left that task to Sara. “If you’ll excuse me, I find I’m not feeling all that well. I believe I will retire for the night.”

  Even though it was bad form, Sara fled, practically running up the stairs to hide in her room. She sat on her bed and stared blindly at the wall. Of course she hadn’t come to London with the hopes of becoming Rossmoyne’s duchess. So why was she always thinking of Ross? Why did she get warm and tingly when she thought back to their kiss? Yes, he’d been drunk, but it still affected her far more than it should have.

  But there was more. There was the banter when they were returning from the nethersken. Ross had shown her so many facets of himself. Did others see what she saw? Did others fathom his depths?

  Or course they did. She could not be the only one who saw him that way.

  And no matter how much it might hurt, Sara had to admit that Elizabeth was right. Sara was not cut out to be a duchess. She preferred to stay in when everyone went out. She preferred to sit against the wall during balls while everyone danced. She preferred to curl up and read a good book while others went calling. That wasn’t at all what a duchess should be.

  Besides, there was her father. Who would take care of him if Sara permanently moved to London? A duke was not able to live in the country when he had so many commitments in the city.

  Elizabeth had been right to set Sara’s mind straight. And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she needed the reminder of who she was and who Ross was.

  By the time the many clocks at Rossmoyne House chimed midnight, Sara was restless. Her body was tired, but her mind refused to settle, and she was weary of being cooped up in her room. She ventured out into the silent hall. By now she knew the way to Ross’s study and found her feet moving in that direction.

  He was there, sitting at his desk and scratching away on a piece of paper. His hair was hanging loose. His frock coat was long gone, as was his cravat, and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone.

  The door was open, and he hadn’t heard her enter, so complete was his attention on what he was doing. She took the opportunity to study him in a way she hadn’t been able to. If society could see him now, they wouldn’t recognize him, cloaked in all this seriousness.

  His pen stopped scratching, and he looked up to stare at the opposite wall and run a hand through his long hair. Maybe he sensed her presence, because he glanced over at the door and paused. “Sara,” he whispered.

  “If I’m intruding, I can leave.”

  “No. Not at all. Please come in.”

  She shouldn’t do this. After all, Elizabeth had warned her off, and Sara secretly agreed that she should stay away. But in her heart, she had known what she was doing when she left her room. She had hoped to find him here.

  Sara found herself sitting on the settee and pulling her legs beneath her in a very unladylike but very comfortable way.

  Ros
s poured two fingers of whiskey into a heavy tumbler and held the bottle up to her in a silent question.

  “No, thank you.”

  He sauntered over to the settee and looked down on her for a long moment before settling in beside her. There was the middle of the settee between them, but it seemed both not enough distance and too much distance.

  For a long time they stared into the fire. It was good, the silence. Comfortable. Sara had never been one to feel the need to fill silence. Especially this one.

  “Did you enjoy yourself this afternoon?” he finally asked.

  “Do you mean with your mother and the endless procession of young misses hoping to become the next duchess?”

  His head jerked around to her, and he appeared speechless until he laughed. Sara couldn’t find it in herself to apologize for her caustic tone.

  “I told you that the callers were more interested in visiting with an eligible duke,” she said.

  “Is that so? Truly?”

  “Truly. There were so many of them that I lost count.”

  He considered her for a long moment. “I don’t believe you.”

  She shrugged. “Ask your mother.”

  “No, thank you. Then I’ll have to hear about how I have a duty to the dukedom and it’s beyond time I thought about finding a duchess and filling the empty nursery.”

  Something deep inside her belly squeezed at the thought of filling the duke’s empty nursery.

  “Oh, yes. That.” She didn’t bother to conceal the sarcasm from her voice.

  Ross looked at her more closely. “I take it none of them was to your liking?”

  “The question is, will they be to your liking?”

  “I haven’t met them, so I cannot say.”

  “Truly? You haven’t attended balls? Almack’s?”

  “Good Lord, no,” he burst out, then shuddered.

  “It’s very difficult to pick out a duchess if you don’t attend the same social functions.” Oh, he would be beyond angry when he discovered that the duchess expected him to attend the Plainfield ball.

  “Maybe I should prevail upon you to pick one for me.” He raised a brow in challenge.

  She snorted. Very unladylike, but she was sitting with her legs tucked under her in the study of the Duke of Rossmoyne, alone with Rossmoyne himself. What did it matter at this point?

  “You don’t want to rise to the challenge?” he asked.

  “No. But thank you for the consideration.”

  “It was worth a try,” he said in resignation.

  “In all seriousness,” she said, “how do you propose to find a duchess?”

  “In all seriousness, I don’t care to discuss this any longer.”

  “So what would you like to discuss?” Despite her earlier thoughts about staying away, and Elizabeth’s words to the same effect, Sara found she was enjoying herself. She always enjoyed herself when she was with Ross. He was easy to talk to.

  “What are you thinking right at this moment?”

  She jerked, not expecting that question. All sorts of answers came to mind, but she decided to settle for the truth. “I was thinking how much I enjoy your company. You’re easy to talk to.”

  He looked down into his drink and she wondered if she’d said too much, had been too candid.

  “I like talking to you, too,” he said, looking at her in such a boyish way that she had to press her lips together to keep from smiling. “You’re refreshing.”

  “You mean odd.”

  “Not odd in the least. Well, maybe a bit odd in that you like to spend time with me and we talk about odd things.”

  “And don’t forget that I won’t measure your windows for new curtains.”

  He laid his head back against the settee and smiled. “There is that.”

  “Truth is, I’m not much of a decorator. I simply don’t care enough about such things.”

  “I’m liking you more and more. You will not beggar your husband with frivolities.”

  “No.”

  They fell into silence again. Ross stretched his legs out in front of him, such long muscular legs, which looked magnificent in the well-made trousers. Then he stretched his arm out along the back of the settee. His hand was inches from her shoulder. Sara was so aware of how close his hand was that she froze, all of her concentration settled on the blunt fingers resting so casually beside her head.

  “I haven’t heard from Montgomery,” he said before taking a sip of whiskey.

  Maybe she should have asked for a glass as well. She’d never had the stuff, and it probably would have gone straight to her head, but she needed the calming effect. Ross’s proximity was doing nothing to relax her.

  “What does that mean?” she asked, trying to concentrate on the conversation.

  “Probably nothing. He has other cases he’s working, so he cannot dedicate all of his time to me.”

  “Even though you would like him to.”

  “Yes. I want this solved.”

  Did he want it solved because he wanted her out of his house? No, she couldn’t believe that. Except for the first day she’d arrived at his house, he’d never indicated that he wanted her gone.

  “As do I. I just want to know. I want the answers to questions that have been haunting me for two years.”

  He looked over at her. His fingers moved but didn’t touch her. “Will you tell your father what you know? Provided we discover any of our answers.”

  “The same questions haunt him. He deserves to know.”

  “It won’t change anything.”

  “I know. My greatest fear is that the person has done this before and has killed since Meredith’s death. If that’s the case, then maybe we can save someone’s life.”

  He turned until he was facing her, pulling his hand back, much to her regret. “That was my thought as well. How many has he killed? Or was Meredith an isolated occurrence?”

  “Why? Why her?” she whispered the question that had plagued her for two years. They might never discover the answer, or they might be closer than they thought to the answer. Hopefully, the information they’d gotten from Mrs. Kettles would give them the direction they needed.

  Ross took another sip of whiskey.

  “I can’t stop thinking of the children,” she said.

  “None of the children belong there,” he said.

  She was glad to hear that he felt the same way. Most who lived a life of privilege never thought about those who struggled on a daily basis, except to maybe start a charity for which they could host balls to raise money, but they were so far removed from the problem that it wasn’t real to them.

  The clock chimed once. Sara and Ross looked at each other.

  “It’s late,” Ross said.

  “Yes.”

  “We should retire to our respective bedrooms.”

  “Yes.” But she didn’t want to move. She could have sat there all night talking to him.

  “We cannot stay here,” he whispered.

  “No.”

  He put his glass on the side table and rose to stand before her. He held out his hands, and she put hers in them and let him help her stand. He crowded her against the settee, their toes touching, their thighs brushing. Sara’s breath hitched. She was eye level with his lips, and she couldn’t help but stare at them.

  He groaned and leaned down to kiss her. This was no tender kiss. This was pent-up frustration from the constraints that society put upon them, and God help her, she answered in kind.

  “I’ve wanted you to kiss me all day,” she whispered against his lips. “If that’s wrong, then so be it.”

  “God, Sara.” He kissed her again, his lips devouring hers. He pulled her closer until her bosom was pressed against his chest. She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight, afraid to let go, afraid for this to end.

  There were too many outside forces pulling them apart, too many reasons why this could never be, but for now she wouldn’t think of any of that. She would live for the moment and
not think of tomorrow or yesterday. There was only now. Only here. Only Ross.

  It was Ross who pulled away first. He was breathing deep, the rise and fall of his chest pressing against hers.

  He ran his hands up and down her sides, as if he couldn’t get enough of touching her, and pressed his forehead against hers. Their fingers found each other and intertwined until they were desperately holding on.

  “I don’t want this to end,” she whispered.

  He huffed out a laugh. “You have no idea how much I agree.”

  “This can only end in heartache.” She was forcing herself to remember Elizabeth’s words.

  And it worked. Ross pulled away. Their hands fell apart and they stood looking at each other for several long heartbeats.

  “You should go,” he whispered.

  She nodded, too choked up to speak. She hesitated, hoping he would rescind his words and ask her to stay. She would. All he had to do was ask and she would throw it all away for him.

  But he didn’t and she walked away.

  Chapter 16

  Watching Sara walk out of his study had been difficult. He’d fought against the urge to call her back, even knowing that was the wrong thing to do. If she complied, then she was not leaving the study for the rest of the night, and he would do far more than kiss her.

  But he let her go because he had to. Because his mother’s remarks still stung. He had no business being alone with her in his study, and yet he could no more have denied her access than he could have cut off his right arm.

  There were so few people he could speak candidly to that he found he craved her presence and her quick mind. Among other things. But those other things he would not think of.

  Instead of going up to his room, as he should have done, he collapsed back into the settee, which was warm from her body, and finished off the last of the whiskey. The servants found him the next morning passed out, still dressed, his head pounding.

  Montgomery arrived a little while later, took one look at Ross, and smirked. “Too far into the bottle last night?” he asked.

  Ross grunted. He sat on the edge of the settee, the empty bottle at his feet, the glass next to it tipped on its side, and ran a hand through his hair. “What news do you bring today?” he asked with a thick, furry tongue.