When a Duke Loves a Woman

by Lorraine Heath

  He intended to treat her as though she were a queen.

  He was aware of her working to remove his clothes. Then her hands were moving across his chest, over his shoulders.

  “All that I love about you remains the same,” she said.

  “My upper torso?”

  “Everything. Your inner strength, your determination, your kindness. The way you blush at bawdy entertainments.”

  “I did not blush.”

  She gave him a secretive smile, just before she nipped his chin. “You blushed. You were so sweet afterward, explaining that what we’d seen was not the way it was between a man and a woman.”

  “Sweet? I shall show you sweet.”

  And he did. Laying her out on the bed, kissing and caressing every inch of her—even though there were now a few more inches of her here and there. Soon there would be quite a few more.

  “When will we wed?” she asked.

  “Before the month is out, to stave off the gossips when my heir arrives early.”

  “Can we marry here in Whitechapel, with only friends and family about?” Someplace where she would be comfortable, where they would be surrounded only by those who loved them, who wouldn’t gossip about them.

  He rose up over her. “We shall marry wherever and however you want. Then we are going away for a month.”

  “Thorne, I have a business to manage. I thought you understood—”

  “Vineyards.”

  She blinked at him. “Pardon?”

  “I’m going to take you to vineyards, pluck grapes off vines, and feed them to you.”

  She laughed. “I can find new wines for my tavern.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “It would be good for business.”

  Once again she laughed, until he took her mouth and she was no longer thinking about vineyards or wines or business. She was thinking only of him, this gorgeous wonderful man who caused her heart to sing.

  When he entered her, she wrapped her legs tightly around his hips. “Don’t leave me this time.”

  And while she saw in his gaze that he understood she was telling him that she wanted him to pour his seed into her, he said, “I’ll never leave you again.”

  They moved in tandem, hips thrusting, until pleasure overcame them both, until they both cried out.

  As they held each other close, lost in the aftermath of incredible pleasure, she realized she’d been wrong. She’d never been a mermaid and he’d never been a unicorn. They always had simply been two people destined for love.

  Chapter 27

  “Hey, Gil, there’s some posh lady out here looking for you,” Roger said from the doorway leading into the kitchen. “She was knocking on the door—well, she wasn’t, a footman was—quite insistently, so I opened it even though we’re not yet ready to serve. She ordered me to fetch you.”

  Posh lady? Certainly not Aslyn. Could it be the woman Thorne had been searching for? No. When she stepped into the taproom, she saw much to her astonishment, the prow of a ship, the Duchess of Thornley, standing there. It seemed she was going to begin her morning with an unwelcome battle. “Your Grace.”

  “Miss Trewlove. I am in need of a word.”

  Gillie had a fairly good idea of what that word might entail—canceling her marriage to Thorne, which she absolutely was not going to do. But she would let the termagant have her rant and then send her on her way. She walked to a nearby table and pulled out a chair. “Would you care to sit?”

  The duchess glanced around. “Everything appears clean.”

  “It is clean.”

  “Your tavern is rather nicer than I expected.”

  Gillie was fairly certain the comment was meant as an insult, but she knew the tact she would adopt with this woman. “I shall take that as a compliment.”

  “As it was meant.” The duchess lowered herself into the chair.

  Gillie took one opposite her and waited, girding herself against whatever ugliness the dragon was going to toss her way.

  “My son informs me that you are to wed. That the ceremony will be a small affair, with merely family and the very closest of friends to attend, and is to take place in a tiny church located in this area of London, and that simply will not do.”

  “It’s what we want.”

  The duchess released a long sigh. “My dear girl, you are marrying a duke, and as his wife, you will discover there is a great deal in life that you want, that you may not have. It must be at St. George’s. It must be a grand affair to which every member of the ton is invited. You must demonstrate to the world that you will make him a worthy duchess.”

  “Your Grace—”

  “I know what you are thinking, my dear. That I am a meddling old woman and do not know of what I speak. But you must understand that a duke’s power comes from his duchess. Do you think I invite ladies over for tea simply because I enjoy tea? No, it is so we can determine what it is our husbands should think and can then go home and tell them what they should think. We are the ones who pay attention to the smallest of details. We are the ones who influence their opinion when it comes to acts of Parliament. Oh, yes, men hold the reins, but we are the ones who slip lumps of sugar to the horses and ensure they go in the direction the men indicate. You cannot hide away here.”

  “I’m not hiding away. It’s my business.” Although if she were honest with herself, perhaps she was, just a tad.

  “Why do you think Lady Aslyn married your brother at St. George’s? Because it was the first step in seeing him accepted by the nobility. Is he totally accepted? Of course not. Do you have any idea what a boon it was to his reputation to have received an invitation to my ball? You can wield the same power, but you must assert it from the beginning. Yes, I know you are going to continue to manage your tavern and to labor here, and that nothing I say will sway you from your course, but you must marry at St. George’s and you must live at Coventry House. Every duchess before you has ensured her duke is viewed as powerful and influential. If you truly love my son, you must see him not diminished in the eyes of his peers and you must not punch lords in ballrooms.”

  Gillie did wish she hadn’t brought up that embarrassing episode. “I wasn’t planning to make it a habit.”

  “I’ve no doubt Dearwood deserved it. I’ve never much cared for the man. In his youth, he was not a good influence over Antony. I wished countless times he’d find other company and told him so. Of course, the more I insisted, the more attached he became to Dearwood.”

  She’d never heard anyone refer to Thorne by his first name, but there was something profound and deep within the word when the duchess said it. “You love him.”

  “Dearwood? Good God, no. Don’t be absurd.”

  “Your son.”

  The duchess angled her chin haughtily. “Naturally. I realize I have a rather acerbic manner, but I was taught from an early age that one does not show one’s feelings. It doesn’t mean they’re not there.”

  Gillie could see that now. They were all trying to protect themselves from hurt, and in so doing they’d walled themselves up. Perhaps she would become a duchess who could teach them not to be so cold. She couldn’t imagine inviting ladies over for tea but a bit of sherry might be in order.

  “So will it be St. George’s?” the duchess asked.

  Gillie took a deep breath. In for a penny, in for a pound. “If Thorne is in agreement.”

  “Very good. And we shall have the most exquisite gown made—”

  “Your Grace, I don’t know what all Thorne has told you, but we’re in a bit of a rush.”

  “My girl, I am a duchess. We shall have a hundred seamstresses at work. It will be done in the blink of an eye. And then—my word, what is that?”

  Gillie looked over her shoulder to where the duchess was peering. Robin was crouched beneath a table. She’d been so focused on the duchess that she hadn’t seen him slip out of the kitchen and into the taproom. “Robin, what are you doing?”

  “I wanted to see the posh lady.” He crept out fro
m his hiding place and slowly approached until he was standing before Thorne’s mother. “Are you a fairy?”

  No doubt to him, with the sparkling jewelry draped around her neck and wrists, her elaborate dress of velvet and satin, her enormous beribboned hat, she did appear to be a rather magical being.

  “Don’t be absurd,” the duchess snapped.

  Gillie was on the verge of chastising her, but before she could Robin said, “When I grow up, I’m goin’ to be an explorer and find another quagga.”

  “Oh, dear boy, by the time you are old enough to go off exploring, there will be no more quaggas at all. You must not waste your time searching for one. You must face reality and ensure no other creature goes the way of him.” She leaned forward earnestly. “You must become a member of Parliament where you can express your opinions, make people listen to you.”

  “What’s Parliament?”

  “Oh, my goodness.” She looked at Gillie. “Is he an orphan?”

  “He is.”

  “Why is he not in a home for wayward children?”

  “He likes living here.”

  “That will not do at all. I shall have to take him in hand.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “With your additional duties, you won’t have time to see to him. I shall see to him.”

  “I gots to protect this place,” Robin piped up.

  “And are you paid for this duty?” the duchess asked.

  “A shilling a week.”

  “I shall pay you two shillings a week as I reside in a house much larger than this. You can live there and protect it.”

  Shaking his head, Robin backed up a step. “I don’t want to leave. Me mum will look for me here.”

  The duchess appeared sad. “You are too young to be one of my husband’s by-blows as I’ve no doubt he had many, but not so old that you couldn’t be the son of one of his offspring. Think about it, young Robin, and when you are ready for grander things, you let me know.”

  With a nod, he dashed off.

  “You wouldn’t take him in, surely,” Gillie said.

  The duchess stood and tugged at her gloves, avoiding Gillie’s gaze. “I have recently come to believe I might acquire a soft spot for orphans. And my residence is so terribly, terribly quiet.”

  Gillie couldn’t help but think that it might be possible she and the duchess would indeed become allies—if not friends—in the end.

  He’d stood here before, and it had been much different then. He’d stared at his father’s timepiece that had been placed in his hand with his father’s dying breath, and he’d watched the minutes ticking by, thinking of all the things he could have been doing that day, wishing his bride would arrive so they could get the burdensome exchange of vows over with. Now he had no desire to monitor the slow movement of the hand on a watch or to do anything that would distract his attention away from the opening into the church because he wanted to see his bride as soon as she appeared, wanted to be the first to lay eyes on her, as he stood with Collinsworth beside him, signaling to all of England that his friend approved of this match and that whatever had transpired that caused his sister not to show was water under the bridge, had not lessened the strength of their friendship.

  Before he’d felt nothing at all, just another chore to be done in a long list of duties that he was to accomplish before he died.

  Now he felt everything: excitement, potential, anticipation. He no longer thought about dying. Instead he thought only about living, living each day with Gillie. With her smiles, and her laughter, and sex. Most decidedly sex. He would love her until she couldn’t stand to be loved any longer.

  And then he would love her some more.

  Suddenly everyone rose to their feet and she was there, strolling up the aisle, on the arm of her brother, Mick Trewlove, her sister leading the way, her other brothers following behind. He could see them all at the edges of his vision, but she was at the center of it. Had his father truly lived his entire life without this, without knowing what it was to feel complete and whole when a woman smiled at him with all the love she felt reflected in her eyes?

  She wore a light beige gown of silk and lace. White was for virgins, she’d told him, and even though he was rather sure that a good many women who weren’t virginal wore white on their wedding day, he didn’t argue with her. Whatever she wanted to wear was fine with him. Orange blossoms held her veil in place.

  Fancy took her place near the altar. As Gillie neared he was incredibly glad she had changed her mind about where the marriage would take place, that he had this day to let everyone see how much he adored her.

  Unexpectedly she stopped at the front pew where his mother stood, studied the woman who had given birth to him, then before all of the ton, she dipped into the most graceful, elegant curtsy he’d ever seen. If he weren’t wearing his spectacles so he could clearly see all the details of Gillie’s face as they exchanged vows, and if what he viewed in the distance wasn’t a bit blurred as a result, he thought he might have detected a fine sheen of tears in his mother’s eyes as she gave Gillie a curt nod.

  Gillie rose and, with her brothers in tow, took the last few steps toward him.

  “Who gives this bride?” the reverend asked in a thunderous voice that echoed up to the rafters.

  “We do,” her brothers announced in unison. One by one they each gave her a kiss on the cheek before taking their place beside their mum on the first pew, until only Mick was left. He placed her hand on Thorne’s arm and gave him a look that promised retribution if he disappointed her. If he disappointed her, he’d ask for their fists to be directed his way.

  “No false hair today?” he asked her.

  She shook her head. “I come to you as I am.”

  “I’d have it no other way.”

  Then as one they turned to face their future together.

  Following the wedding, they’d held a reception that had gone into the late afternoon. Then Thorne had bundled her into a coach and brought her to Thornley Castle. Her trousseau and an abundance of clothing the duchess had insisted were necessary had been delivered earlier in the day. On the morrow, she and Thorne were heading to the vineyards of France and then Italy.

  Upon their arrival at his estate, he had taken her on a leisurely tour of the manor. Room upon room upon room.

  “I shall forever be getting lost,” she told him now.

  Chuckling, he drew her near, kissed her. “Simply find a bell pull, tug on it, and a servant will come lead you to safety.”

  “It’s impressive, Thorne. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I have something else to show you. I’ve been saving it for last.” Taking her hand, he led her along corridors and finally down a narrow set of stairs. At the bottom was a small alcove. At the end of it was a door. He lifted a lantern, the flame inside flickering, off a hook on the wall, and held it aloft. “I instructed the butler to leave this room unlocked for tonight.”

  He shoved open the door, took her hand, and escorted her into an enormous room with a long table in its center, and cask upon cask upon cask lined up on shelves along three of the walls.

  Releasing her hold on him, she pressed a hand to her tightening chest and raced to one of the oaken barrels. “Oh, my God. So many.” She trailed her fingers over one after another, recognizing some of the names etched in the wood, knowing they were a vintage far superior and more expensive than anything she’d ever carry in her small tavern.

  She swung around and faced him. “If you’d offered to show me this fine collection instead of your horses, I’d have come when you invited me.”

  After setting the lantern on a hook, he strode over to her, bracketed his hands on either side of her waist, and smiled. “I didn’t want you to fall in love with me for my wine.”

  She wound her arms around his neck. “Never.” Giving him an impish smile, she added, “But it certainly does increase your appeal.”

  Lifting her up, he set her on the table, wedged himself be
tween her legs. “I’ve been wondering something all day. Why did you curtsy to my mother at the church?”

  She skimmed her hands up into his hair, smiled softly. “Because I decided she was worthy of my curtsy, because she does love you, and because she gave me you.”

  “Ah, Gillie, you can so easily drop me to my knees.”

  Although it was a bit of a challenge, she managed to get her legs wrapped around him, held him tightly. “I’d rather have you standing. Take me here, take me now. Make me your wife.”

  “Princess, in my heart, I think I did that the first time I ever laid eyes on you. I have never felt for any woman what I have felt for you from the beginning.”

  He lowered his mouth and poured all that he was into the kiss, into her. He was the finest of wines, the richest of flavors, the most intoxicating of men. And he was hers.

  Epilogue

  Thornley Castle

  1872

  Thorne had wanted his first child to be born at his ancestral estate, and Gillie had accommodated his wish. She didn’t have it within her to deny him anything he desired. So now she sat in a massive bed in an elaborately decorated room, in a fresh nightdress, her husband fully clothed, except for his jacket and boots, sitting beside her with his arm around her, her head tucked into the hollow of his shoulder as they both gazed down on the babe she had spent the better part of the night bringing into the world.

  The child had arrived with the last song of the nightingale, the first trill of the lark.

  “Trust you to not even be able to properly bring a child into the world,” the dowager duchess said with a sniff, standing near the foot of the bed. “Your husband is a duke. Your first order of business is to give him an heir.”

  “I find no fault with my daughter, Mother,” Thorne said patiently, and Gillie heard in his voice the love he already harbored for their child, her tiny hand wrapped snugly around the finger he had offered to her.