Her eyes rested there before moving up to his bare neck, where his pulse beat, slowly and steadily. What would it be like to press her lips there, as he had done to her? To taste his skin?
Her cheeks tingled and so she shifted her gaze further up, to his chin with its slight cleft, then to his lips. Which were grinning. She gasped and her eyes flew up to his. His cheeks crinkled in amusement.
“Like what you see?” he said, his voice soft.
She looked to Daisy, seated next to her, but, like Deveric, she’d drifted off into sleep. Thank goodness. She needed no additional witnesses to her wanton behavior.
“I—” she began, but stopped, having no excuse for her blatant perusal.
He leaned forward and beckoned her to do so, as well. She did, hesitantly. Their faces were mere inches from each other. “This way we can whisper,” he said, “and not disturb the others.”
She nodded.
“Although if you’d like to kiss me, I wouldn’t be adverse to that, either.”
She tried to give him a severe look, but ended up biting her lip to keep from laughing.
His eyes twinkled in delight, but then grew moist. “I am so sorry, Grace. If I could have done anything—”
“—You couldn’t.” She broke him off with a shake of her head. “He is not right in the head, Damon. You are not at fault for that.”
“But he is my uncle. If not for me, for your knowing me, you would not have been taken. You would not have been compromised. It is all my fault.”
“I am not compromised!” she hissed, her voice causing Daisy to mumble in her sleep.
“Not in that way, thank God,” he said. “But in the eyes of society, yes.”
The words irritated her, though she’d acknowledged the same sentiment earlier. “Why do you care? It’s not as if you value what the ton thinks.”
“No. But I value you. And I must make this right. We must marry.”
Her heart sank, a coldness creeping in. There was no emotion in his voice beyond perhaps resignation. No hint that any feeling other than guilt and a sense of honor drove his insistence that they wed.
At her silence, he went on. “We would be well-suited. Do you not think so? Our interests are not dissimilar, our temperaments compatible. I have no love of London, nor do you. We could spend our time in the country, at Thorne Hill, or perhaps Blackwood Abbey. And when I must be in London to take my seat in the House of Lords, I would understand if you wished to remain behind, not forced into the stresses of city life. We each do value opportunities for solitude, after all. It need not …” He swallowed. “It need not be a full marriage, if you do not wish it. But a marriage of convenience, a marriage for appearances’ sake, would at least save you from the dishonor you have endured.”
Grace’s throat constricted, a sour taste rising in her mouth. Now he didn’t even want her with him? He’d abandon her so easily? This was his idea of marriage—of lives lived apart?
Her mother had suffered through that; years of her husband gallivanting around London while she’d been stuck at Clarehaven.
“You should stay for the sake of the little ones,” Samuel Claremont had insisted. “They need a mother’s influence.”
Little did it matter that plenty of other couples left their children to the care of nannies and governesses during the Season. And as Grace and her siblings had grown and he’d still left Matilda behind, it’d become apparent to all he’d not wanted her with him.
Had her mother wanted to go? Grace suspected so. Matilda Mattersley had never spoken openly of her feelings, but occasionally the mask of respectability and honor she wore like armor had fallen. Once, when a note from Grace’s father had come, promising to return at some point in the future, that business had delayed him a little longer, her mother’s face had crumbled, revealing the hurt underneath.
One evening shortly thereafter, as a young Grace passed the study, she overheard Deveric tell their brother Chance it wasn’t business that kept Father away; it was his mistress.
Grace hadn’t quite known at the time what a mistress was. When she’d asked her mother the next day, Matilda’s face had gone ashen and she’d struck Grace across the cheek, the only time her mother raised a hand to her.
“Never mention that again!” her mother had commanded.
And she hadn’t. But the anguish in her mother’s eyes spoke volumes. It was one of the reasons Grace had apprehensions about marrying. She did not want to experience the pain her mother had, no matter how well Matilda hid it from the rest of society.
Damon continued before she could respond. “You have been raised in the ways of society, in the ways of the ton. You could help me with the rules and regulations. As smart as you are, you could help in managing the estates, as well. I’m sure you’ve been taught the duties of a wife.”
Grace’s eyes pricked with tears. How had she mistaken Damon so badly? She had not thought him, of all people, to speak of marriage in such cut and dried terms, as a business transaction. She had thought that he, too, having suffered such loss and isolation as a child, wouldn’t settle for anything less than a full union, driven by love.
She was wrong. How foolish she had been.
Was this why he had courted her? Not out of affection, out of attachment, but rather as a tool for his betterment?
Oh, to turn back time! To be back in Bath, in the bedchamber in which she’d acknowledged the myriad ways she loved him, in which she’d fantasized about him being her knight in shining armor. Though she’d been a prisoner, the future uncertain, it’d been less painful than this, this harsh reality that Damon did not love her. Not like she loved him. For if he did, wouldn’t he have said so? Yet no such declarations had come from him, despite the passionate moments they had shared.
Or would she turn it back farther, to before they’d met? Would she wish to return to a time before she’d known this level of emotion? Before she’d fallen for the Duke of Malford?
Pain wracked her chest and she clutched her arms around her ribs. She was not interested in being his tutor, in training him in the ways of anything. She wanted to be loved and respected, not seen as a means to an end. She forced herself to sit up, to breathe regularly. She would not let him see how his words wounded her, would not reveal how her heart was breaking.
Amara had refused to marry without love, despite years of ostracization after her dishonor. Grace could endure the same.
She looked him squarely in the eye, hers unblinking. “No.”
“No? You haven’t been trained to be a wife?”
“No, I will not marry you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Carriage to Clarehaven, Hampshire, England – Mid-May, 1814
His chest constricted as if she’d stabbed him. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, that quick, decisive “no” wasn’t one of them. He exhaled slowly, fighting to keep his face stoic.
“I see,” he said, his voice calm. But his stomach rolled. Why didn’t she wish to marry him? Could she not see what a position she was now in? Polite society would scorn her, a woman fallen.
His uncle’s voice echoed in his mind. You’re only half a man.
Of course. Of course she didn’t want to marry him. Who would want someone whose body betrayed him as his did? Who would want to risk having children who might suffer the same affliction? And his uncle, his blood relative, had kidnapped her and dragged her across England. The man was mad. And Damon damaged. Perhaps she feared bad blood ran through the family. He wouldn’t blame her.
He’d offered a marriage free of its normal obligations so that she’d not feel forced, but still had the means by which to rescue her honor.
The natural progression of their courtship would have led to this point, to a proposal, would it not? Given her response to their kisses, he was certain she desired him as much as he her. He’d hoped with time, she’d wish for, insist on, a full marriage. A consummated marriage. Hoped she could be happy with him and might even come to love him.
It was her choice to make, whether to marry him and save her honor, or to refuse him, thereby ending their association. For if they didn’t marry now, there was no future for them. They could not go back as they’d been before his uncle’s actions, and because of those actions, there was no other reasonable path forward.
And she’d refused him.
He could tell her he loved her. He could risk it all.
But if she refused again, if she rebuffed him in that moment of most intimate exposure, he didn’t think he could survive it. Too many people had rejected him to risk revealing himself in that way, and none for whom he’d felt the half of what he felt for Grace.
Still, he owed her. He owed her his name, not only because Fillmore had robbed her of her honorable status in society, but also because she’d likely saved his life when she’d attacked his uncle with that poker.
He crossed his arms, staring out the window. The scenery passed by, an indistinguishable blur. Much like his emotions.
“Damon,” she said, her voice the softest whisper, but he ignored her.
She did not try again.
After a few moments, Deveric stirred, his hat falling into his lap. He yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry, sister,” he said. “Between running after you and helping care for the baby, I’m a little short on sleep.”
Grace gave a half laugh, though a quick glance revealed her eyes were on Damon, not her brother, her fingers nervously pulling at her gown. “You’re up at night with Isabelle?”
Deveric shifted in his seat. “Occasionally. When Eliza will let me; she mostly wants to tend to Belle herself. Refuses the nurse, even.”
“She is a wonderful mother. And you a wonderful husband.”
Was that wistfulness in Grace’s voice? Damon closed his eyes as the two conversed, fatigue seeping into every pore of his body—and his heart—though he listened carefully to their words.
“Are you all right?” Deveric asked Grace after a few moments.
I will not peek. I will not look to see her face.
“Yes. Though overwhelmed by all that has happened, I suppose.”
“We should go to Clarehaven for a while, to let you recover.”
“And because you want to see Eliza, I’m sure.”
“Always. Unless you’d prefer to return to the family in London?”
There was a pause. “No. I do not wish to be the subject of further gossip, the next nine days’ wonder. Let them find something new to obsess over. In time they shall forget me.”
“Understood.” Deveric fell silent. A minute later, he asked, “Damon?”
Damon reluctantly opened his eyes. He turned toward Deveric so as to avoid Grace. He could not look upon her just now, not with his soul in a thousand pieces. He had offered for her and she had rejected him, despite the situation in which she now found herself, despite the moments they had shared. “Yes?”
“Do you wish us to take you to Thorne Hill? It’s rather on the way, from what I understand.”
Damon ground his teeth, a muscle popping in his cheek. “I would prefer to stay with Grace. We have unfinished business.”
Grace coughed. Deveric raised an eyebrow.
“I have asked your sister to marry me. She has refused. Given all that has happened, I feel I must convince her otherwise.”
For he must. Though she had slain him with her refusal, he could not leave her to a life of dishonor, devoured by scandal. She deserved far better, even if it be a marriage in name only. Something to rescue her reputation. The protection of the Malford wealth, the Malford name. Though the Demon Duke had sullied that in the eyes of the ton, as well, no doubt.
Both of Deveric’s eyebrows rose as he studied his sister. “You refused him?”
Damon could not help but look to her, to gauge her response to her brother’s challenge.
Grace’s cheeks blazed bright red, her eyes darting to Daisy. “This is neither the time nor place to discuss it.”
Was it Damon’s imagination, or did Grace elbow Daisy in the side? The maid squirmed and then blinked, sitting up straight in the seat.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Daisy,” Grace said, her voice all too innocent. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Damon’s mouth tipped up in a sardonic grin. He caught her eye and dipped his head briefly.
Well played. But this isn’t over yet.
The rest of the trip to Clarehaven passed more quickly than Grace had expected. With Daisy awake, they’d dropped all intimate conversation, thank heavens. Her feelings were entirely too raw to discuss.
Instead, Deveric and Damon talked about the management of an estate the size of Clarehaven. Though her brother’s detailed discussion of farming methods and crop yields nearly lulled her to sleep, Damon asked numerous questions and compared how things were done at Thorne Hill.
“I look forward to implementing a number of your suggestions, Deveric. It is good to have the counsel of someone with, er, more years of practice.”
“Any time,” her brother responded. “I must say, for a man not raised as the heir, you have done a remarkable job of it, Damon. You have my respect.”
Damon had swallowed, his throat bobbing, but made no response beyond a curt nod. Grace’s heart, however, swelled in gratitude toward her brother. No matter that currently she and Damon were in a mess, surely Deveric’s acceptance, the affirmation of a fellow duke, must assuage some of Damon’s self-doubt. And Damon deserved as much.
After a short silence, Damon addressed Daisy. “Do you mind if we don’t go to Thorne Hill immediately? I know I promised a position there.”
Daisy’s eyes bulged in her head at a duke asking her opinion. “It is no problem fer me, Your Grace,” she squeaked. “I am sure I can be of help in the kitchen.”
“I don’t suppose you have any experience as a lady’s maid?” Grace asked.
Daisy swallowed. “No, milady. But my sister was lady’s maid to Daphne, afore she died. I sometimes watched her.”
Grace’s eyebrows knit together. “I am so sorry for your loss.”
Daisy clutched her hands together. “She sickened and died within a week. Same as Mum and Da.”
Grace fought the urge to hug the poor girl; it would likely overset her. “Well, if you are willing to try, I find myself in need of a lady’s maid, at least until Bess returns from London.”
Daisy nodded, a hesitant smile on her face. “I would be right happy to help you, milady.”
“Good. That’s settled, then.”
All four occupants fell to their personal thoughts, a quiet with its own peace infusing the coach.
But Grace knew it would not last. No, she still had her family to face. And Damon.
It was late in the evening when the coach finally rolled up to Clarehaven. They had stopped occasionally to change horses and for a fine cold lunch from an inn along the way.
Grace exhaled in relief as she exited the coach, guided by Deveric’s hand. She looked up at the tall columns framing the doorway and smiled. “It is good to be home.” How she had missed it.
“Yes, it is,” Deveric agreed.
Helping Daisy from the carriage, he transferred her to his waiting butler, Mulder. “Please take Daisy to Mrs. Wiggins.” The butler gave Daisy the barest of nods, his bearing stiffly erect.
To Daisy, Deveric added, “Mrs. Wiggins is Clarehaven’s housekeeper. She will see you settled.”
Daisy nodded her thanks and left with the taciturn butler.
A squeal emerged as the grand front door flung open and a short blonde woman raced down the stairs, launching herself into Deveric’s arms. She kissed him once, twice, and then pulled away to greet Grace, enfolding her in a warm embrace. “I knew he’d find you. I knew it! Thank God!”
Grace beamed. The light, loving manner of her sister-in-law was the perfect balm to the heaviness of the last days. “Eliza, you are always such a delight.”
Eliza giggled and turned back to Deveric. Damon stood to his side, and Eliza, upon
seeing him, exclaimed, “Hello! I’m Eliza Mattersley. And you are?”
“Ah, my dear, bold wife,” Deveric said, stroking a hand down her arm. “Still American in every way, too impatient to wait for an introduction.”
She elbowed him, but her cheeks cracked into a smile.
“Eliza, the Duke of Malford,” Deveric said, his eyes twinkling. “Malford, this is my wife, the Duchess of Claremont.”
She dropped him a curtsy. “It is my pleasure, Your Grace. Thank you for rescuing our dearest Grace. Rather like a chivalrous knight of old—or the hero of a modern gothic novel, don’t you think?” She winked at him.
Grace nearly laughed out loud at her sister-in-law. Dearest Eliza, indeed; she brought joy wherever she went.
Eliza turned to Grace and hooked her arm through the young woman’s. “Come, let’s get something to eat while you regale me with this crazy adventure. Maybe some of Cook’s cherry tarts?”
“Save some for me!” Deveric called after them.
Eliza flashed a saucy grin over her shoulder. “Your treats come later.”
Grace looked back, as well, not wanting to miss her brother’s reaction to his wife’s suggestive banter. Instead, her eyes locked with Damon’s. His were burning, hungry, devouring her so fully she shivered.
If pure physical passion were a reason for marriage, she’d wed him in a moment. For she liked nothing better than imagining herself the tart, the object of his appetite, and him consuming her. It was quite the vision, indeed.
But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough.
Eliza and Grace sat in the kitchen, cups of hot chocolate resting on the wooden table in front of them. Eliza took a bite of a tart, a delighted noise escaping from her as she licked the cherry filling.
“Exquisite, as always,” she said after she’d finished chewing. “I have never understood how you stay so slim with treats like these in the house!”
The Demon Duke Page 16
