The Reluctant Duchess

by Sharon Cullen

  How positively greedy they were being. They saw her only for the money she would bring to them. They didn’t see her quiet ways. They didn’t see that she liked evenings in front of blazing fires, and that she liked to talk with her feet tucked up beneath her. Neither did they know that she would despise being hemmed in and that she didn’t like being the center of attention.

  “Leave her be,” his mother said. “Let her experience what it’s like to be wooed and courted before she returns to Hadley Springs.”

  Ross had to look away. His jaw muscles were clenched so tightly that he felt a sharp pain. His mother was right. He should let her go.

  Chapter 19

  Sara’s entire body ached during the ride home. She’d found that when she was in social situations, she held her body tightly, her muscles clenched in anxiety. She didn’t even realize she was doing it until after the event and she began to relax. The result was always sore muscles that sometimes lasted a few days.

  She was so glad that the entire ordeal was finished, and she was pleased that she’d made it through the night without having to leave the ballroom. Sometimes her fear was so bad that she couldn’t breathe and had to leave. That was the worst, because it caused exactly what she wanted to avoid: people staring at her, talking about her.

  She surreptitiously glanced at Ross, sitting across from her, only to find that he was looking at her, his eyes glittering in the lamplight that shone through the carriage window.

  Quickly, she looked away, although her body heated at the memory of him holding her in his arms while they danced. She’d been mortified to be dancing and furious at him for forcing her to dance, but as soon as his arm went around her, it was as if the other people in the ballroom ceased to exist, and for the remainder of the dance it was just the two of them wrapped in each other’s arms.

  Oh, how delicious it had been. She could see why some people protested the waltz. It was scandalous and beautiful and exhilarating all at the same time.

  She had felt wonderful, so alive, while dancing with him. She would take that memory back to Hadley Springs and pull it out in the dark of winter to remember that at one time in her life she had experienced a waltz with a duke. With Ross.

  Upon entering Rossmoyne House, Elizabeth went up to her room. Ross climbed the stairs after muttering good night, and Sara stood in the entryway and watched him go. Her magical night was over, and she felt a little bereft at the thought. But what had she expected? That Ross would sweep her off her feet and demand that…What? What would he demand? That she become his duchess?

  She snorted, startling the footman out of his doze. She mumbled an apology and made her way to her bedchamber.

  She didn’t want to become Ross’s duchess. Just the thought of all the balls and soirees and teas and musicales and assorted other social events a duchess would have to attend made her stomach cramp. Besides that, she had her father to take care of, and Ross had no interest in her in that way.

  She was here because she’d asked for his help, and he had graciously offered his home as a sanctuary.

  Wrapped in her nightgown and robe after Jenny had fidgeted over the golden gown and hung it up and put away the shoes and petticoats and shift and everything else, Sara sat at her dresser and ran the brush through her hair and stared at her reflection. For a little bit of time she had been beautiful, but now she was back to being plain Sara. She put her brush down with force and stood up. She didn’t want to return to being plain Sara just yet. She wanted to prolong the night. She wanted her nightly conversation with Ross.

  Not caring that she should not be walking through the halls in the early-morning hours clothed in nothing but a nightgown and robe, she made her way to the study.

  He was there, standing at the window with his shirt half open, sipping his Scottish whiskey.

  He looked over at her when she entered, but no more than a cursory glance that cut her to the quick. The old Sara would have retreated, not wanting to interfere in whatever was going on in his mind. The old Sara would have been intimidated by his cold stare. Tonight she discovered that there was little of that old Sara in her.

  “It’s late,” he said to the window. “You should go to bed.”

  “I don’t want to go to bed.”

  He took another sip. If it was his intention to ignore her, then he should have known it would not work.

  “Why are you suddenly in such a foul mood?” she asked.

  He continued to sip. She moved to the settee and sat down, folding her legs underneath her. He turned and leaned against the window sash to watch her. “I’m not in a foul mood.”

  “You lie.”

  He smirked. “Careful what you say, little one. You are far too familiar.”

  That cut her to the quick. She’d thought they had moved passed that and into the realm of the familiar. After all, their nightly talks and kisses had been very familiar indeed. “Would you have me lie?”

  “I would have you go back to your room.”

  “I look forward to our evening talks.”

  He looked down into his glass. “I should never have encouraged you to visit me in my study late at night.”

  “I thought we were friends.” Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice.

  He looked up at the ceiling, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “People like us cannot simply be friends.”

  “And why not?”

  He pierced her with a burning look that contradicted what he was saying. His words pushed her away, but his looks drew her in. “It’s not done.”

  “Hang what is done and what is not done. We are hurting no one. We enjoy our conversations. Or at least I thought you enjoyed our conversations.”

  “I look forward to them from the time I awaken,” he said softly.

  He stayed stubbornly on the other side of the room. She wanted him to sit next to her. She wanted to feel his warmth, to laugh and converse with him like they’d done the last several nights, but tonight it wasn’t happening.

  “So what’s wrong?”

  He pushed away from the window and sauntered the periphery of the room, not coming any closer, much to her frustration. “I learned tonight that you are an heiress.”

  She was so shocked that she didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t at all what she’d expected from him. So she was an heiress. It wasn’t as if she’d kept it a secret, and it wasn’t as if he needed her money. Why was he mentioning it?

  “I guess I should have realized that you’re the only child of one of the richest marquisettes in the country, but it honestly never occurred to me.”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

  “It doesn’t. Or at least it shouldn’t.”

  “You’re making no sense. My father has money. It’s not something people of quality speak about to each other, but there it is. Now can we move on?”

  He took another sip and appeared thoughtful. He was half drunk, his mood contemplative and strange. She wasn’t certain she liked this side of him.

  “You don’t like that I’m an heiress?”

  “It makes no difference to me.”

  “As it shouldn’t. It’s not as if you’re beggared.”

  “No.”

  The silence stretched thin.

  “But it matters to others,” he said softly.

  “Others?”

  He waved his hand in the air, the one holding the glass. Whiskey sloshed over the side. “The young bucks tonight.”

  She searched her mind, trying to comprehend what he was saying. “Do you mean Lord Newport?”

  “Was that the blond one who couldn’t keep his eyes off you?”

  She looked at him incredulously. “Are you jealous?”

  He snorted. “I am not. You are entitled to socialize with whomever you wish.”

  “Lord Newport is an old family friend. I haven’t seen him in two years.”

  “You owe me no explanation.”

  She unfolded herself fr
om the settee and walked up to him. He stared down at her impassively with hooded eyes a little too red-rimmed. “Do you fear fortune hunters?”

  “I would not wish to see you taken in by them.”

  “You care.” She tried to suppress her smile, but inside she was smiling wide. He cared.

  “Of course I care. We were almost family. I feel duty-bound to watch out for you.”

  She felt her smile slip. “Is that all I am? A duty? Simply because at one time we might have been family?”

  “What else did you think this was?”

  “So the way you kissed me last night? That was just duty?”

  For a moment his eyes widened. “Damnation, Sara.”

  “What? Is it bad form to mention our kiss? Should we not discuss it? Yet we can discuss my dowry?”

  “That is enough.”

  “No. It’s not enough. I would like to kiss you again. I came here tonight in the hope that you would kiss me again.”

  He held up his hand as if to stem the flow of her words, but there was no stopping her. She was furious and hurt and confused, and she refused to believe that he had kissed her out of a sense of duty.

  Because she was furious, hurt, and confused, she did something she might not have normally done. She grabbed Ross by the front of his shirt and yanked him toward her. His eyes widened, and the glass he’d been holding dropped to the floor, splashing whiskey before it rolled away.

  “What are you doing?” he asked in surprise.

  “What I’ve wanted to do for too long.” She smashed her lips into his and pressed hard before she realized that was not the right way to go about this. She softened her lips and brushed them lightly against his. They were warm and tasted of Scottish whiskey. She licked the remainder of the whiskey off them until he groaned.

  “You cannot tell me that this is out of a sense of duty,” she said. “If it were, you would be kissing everyone you owed a debt to.”

  Her hands were fisted in his shirt, and she knew she was wrinkling the material but didn’t care. She refused to let go, just like she refused to give up until she got the kiss she wanted.

  “Kiss me back, dammit.” She spoke against his lips, refusing to break contact. She knew she would just die if she stopped now. Die of mortification and die of need.

  Suddenly, his arms came around her, hard and brutal, crushing her to him, and he kissed her back, stroking her lips with his tongue until she opened her mouth and allowed him in. Good Lord. If he had not been holding her, she would have slithered to the ground.

  His tongue swept into her mouth and toyed with hers, coaxing her to do the same. A low moan escaped her and she tried to pull him closer, but they were as close as they could get.

  With his hand in her hair, he tilted her head back to allow for better penetration. Through her gown and robe, she could feel the rigid outline of his manhood pressing into her belly, and it excited her in ways she never thought possible.

  This was no sense of duty.

  “Ross,” she whispered, having no idea what to say after that. Words were beyond her. All she knew was that she never wanted any of this to stop.

  He took a half a step back and she mewled in protest, but he hadn’t moved to break the kiss; he slid his hand between them so he could cup her breast. Oh my Lord. She jumped at the unexpected contact and the tingles that raced through her body. She was so sensitive everywhere.

  He took a step forward, forcing her to step back, until they were at the settee, where he gently lowered her until he was lying on top of her. His thighs pressed against hers. His chest against hers.

  She ran her hands through his newly shorn hair. It was so soft that she couldn’t keep her fingers out of it.

  The spot between her legs throbbed. It hurt to not move, but she was pinned beneath him, unable to move. She moaned, needing something but unsure what.

  He bent his head to trail kisses down her throat and she cried out, each touch so exquisite that she could barely think straight. His hand inched up her nightgown and robe, revealing her naked thighs to his tender touch. His hands were calloused from riding and whatever else he did, and his touch drove her wild. She wanted to beg for mercy, to plead for him to do something to ease the aching, but she could not speak.

  His fingers grazed the juncture of her thighs and she jerked, surprised and a bit embarrassed. She stilled, her breath suspended, waiting for him to do something.

  He looked down at her with such a tender expression. “Look at me,” he said hoarsely.

  She kept her eyes trained on him, but her mind was focused on his fingers and what they were doing to her. He touched something inside her folds and she jumped, her breath catching.

  “Easy,” he whispered. “Relax.”

  She tried, but the sensations between her legs would not allow her to relax. He rubbed her and she made a surprised sound. She wasn’t sure if she was more surprised by his fingers being there or by the way those fingers were making her feel. Her body worked on its own, moving up to meet his fingers. She bit her lip.

  “Concentrate on what I’m doing to you,” he whispered into her ear. As if she could concentrate on anything else.

  She gasped and moved against him, pushing herself into his palm, pressing against him, writhing and rubbing. Something was building inside of her, and she wasn’t sure that when it broke she would be left breathing. But there was no way in heaven she could stop now.

  “Let it go,” he said softly.

  Their gazes locked and she moved her pelvis as his fingers moved over her, and whatever pinnacle she had been reaching for broke over her. She cried out, her body stiffening. The feeling washing over her was so exquisite and intense that she lost all thought.

  “Breathe, little one.” They were the first words she heard when the sensation ebbed away. She dragged in a deep breath, not realizing she hadn’t been breathing at all.

  Ross pushed up on his elbows and smiled down upon her. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I cannot move for fear I would slide onto the floor.”

  He chuckled and kissed her, a quick peck that made her smile.

  The door to the study opened and Sara froze, all the good feelings washing away in a torrent of panic. Ross cursed and rolled off her. The way the settee was situated, whoever had walked in could not see Sara, and neither could Sara see whoever was standing there. She desperately tried to push her nightgown and robe over her legs without being seen.

  “Mother.” Ross quickly rounded the settee, and Sara thanked the Lord that he was still dressed.

  “I thought I heard a sound in here,” Elizabeth said.

  Sara closed her eyes in mortification and slowly sat up. There was no use in hiding. She would eventually be discovered, for Elizabeth was not stupid.

  She met the cold eyes of the duchess, who stood rigidly in the doorway.

  “I see.” She turned her frigid gaze to Ross. He flinched, and Sara felt so very small. She had known that the duchess didn’t want her to get involved with her son, and she had done so anyway. Now the duchess thought less of her and could make things very difficult for her. She didn’t care so much about her reputation, since she had no intention of ever marrying, but she did care what her father thought of her, and if this got back to him, he would be devastated.

  “It’s probably best if you return to your room, Sara,” the duchess said.

  Sara dipped her head and rushed out of the room, looking at neither Ross nor his mother. She didn’t want to see the regret in his eyes, and she was certain that was exactly what she would see.

  Chapter 20

  Ross watched Sara flee the room with her head bent. Just moments ago she had come apart in his arms and everything had been perfect. The shame on her face when she ran from the room had nearly destroyed him.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Gabriel. I specifically asked you to stay away from her.”

  He had tried, but it had been impossible. He could no more have turned Sara away than he could
have stemmed the tide of the ocean. Oh, he’d had every intention. Maybe. He could have stayed away from the study, knowing that Sara would come here looking for him.

  No, he was weak when it came to Lady Sara Emerson.

  “The fault lies on my shoulders,” he said stiffly.

  “Oh, Gabriel.” His mother put her hand to her forehead and rubbed it. “You have ruined her.”

  Like a lad who knew he was caught, he shifted from one foot to the other. “If it’s any consolation, she’s not completely ruined.”

  She glared at him from between her fingers. “It is of no consolation.” She wearily made her way to the settee, made to sit down, thought better of it, and moved to the chair. “Tell me everything. I know there is something more happening that you are not telling me.”

  Ross slumped into the settee. For a moment the image of her writhing beneath him came to mind, but he ruthlessly pushed it away. “Sara is receiving letters from someone who claims he was present the night Meredith was murdered.”

  His mother drew in a surprised gasp. “Is this letter writer threatening her?”

  “Not yet, but I fear in time he will.”

  “Why?”

  “We don’t know. Montgomery is helping us track him, but we have too few leads.”

  The duchess stared at him for the longest time. “She came to you for protection, Gabriel, and you have compromised her.”

  He dropped his head in his hands. “I’m aware.” He felt despicable. “I’m also aware that I failed to protect Meredith, and now I am tasked with protecting her cousin. I cannot fail in this.”

  “Oh, Gabriel.” His mother knelt before him and pulled his hands away from his face, just as she had when he was a boy and distraught over something. She pulled him toward her until his head was lying on her shoulder. “All this time I thought you mourned Meredith, but in reality you felt guilty. It’s not your fault. The silly girl left the safety of her home in the middle of the night.”

  He pulled away. “It is not her fault that she was killed.”