The Duke's Reluctant Bride

by Regina James

  Stepping out himself, Alexander turned and offered Emma his hand, grateful to feel the chilly wind on his face, cooling his cheeks.

  As she slipped her hand into his, a tingle ran up his arm. Her skin felt soft and tender, yet cool and trembling. Instantly, he drew her forward, determined to get her out of the cold as soon as possible.

  When her hand slipped from his and linked through the bend of his arm, he felt a hint of regret.

  Many congratulations were offered, but also regret that no invitation to their wedding had been received. Alexander did his best to manoeuvre the sea of people with ease. He knew what was expected of him and played the role that had been his long before his father had passed his title on to him.

  Next to him, he felt Emma almost clinging to his arm. Her eyes were wider than usual, taking in her surroundings with apprehension.

  ***

  The noise. Emma had never heard such noise, never seen so many people in one place. The estate was large, almost as large as Langley and in every corner, in every nook and cranny, people were gathered, talking, laughing, dancing and drinking. They sounded like a beehive, only louder, much louder, and their voices held none of the soothing hum of the little honey collectors. Their voices were shrill. Like an instrument out of tune, they hurt her ears.

  For the first time, thankful for her husband’s presence, Emma’s hand clutched his arm tightly, afraid to be left behind. Following him through the crowd, she was introduced to her neighbours.

  Names and titles flew at her. Some sounded familiar, some didn’t, but none found a permanent place in the corners of her mind. Playing his part with ease, Alexander offered her a drink, which she accepted gratefully.

  Her throat felt parched, and the cool liquid offered relief. However, letting go of his arm, Emma soon found others drifting toward them, crowding around her husband and drawing him into a conversation.

  Step by step, she retreated from the throng of people until she could barely see him anymore. Her heart hammered and her palms began to sweat as she found herself alone, unsure how to proceed.

  As her heart threatened to jump out of her chest, she saw her husband walk toward her, offering his hand. As though it was a lifeline, she reached for it, grateful for his warm touch to her own chilled skin.

  He led her through the throng of people to the dance floor. Emma felt his hand on her waist, and even through the layers of fabric, she thought she could truly feel his touch. The hand that held hers, guiding her movements, sent a shiver down her back as his thumb slowly moved over her skin.

  Was he doing this on purpose? She wondered. Or was he lost in thought? Letting her feet move, Emma held on to her husband, feeling safe for the first time that night.

  Her hand trembled as it lay in his. He could feel her breath on his skin as she forced a mask of happiness on her face. Not looking him in the eye, her gaze was focused beyond his shoulder, giving him the opportunity to observe her more freely.

  Her cheeks were flushed as though she had run a sprint or heard something embarrassing. Every now and then her tongue snaked out, moistening her lips, and he thought to detect a small tear drop clinging to her thick eyelashes.

  Too soon the music stopped and the dance ended, new couples encroaching on the floor, demanding their turn. Leading his wife into the hall, Alexander’s mind drifted to other dances, dances with Bridget.

  These moments holding her in his arms had been the most wonderful moments of his life. He had cherished them like his greatest treasure, and even now the memories put a smile on his lips.

  Finally, back in the carriage on the way back to Langley Manor, Emma breathed a sigh of relief. While not altogether pleasant, the evening had passed without further embarrassments, and Emma longed for her bed, feeling her limbs growing heavy with the need for rest.

  Pulling up in front of the house, the carriage came to a stop, and a footman opened the door. Once again her husband assisted her the two short steps down to the slippery ground, holding her hand firmly in his and guiding her up the stairs to the front doors.

  Chapter Eight

  ♠♠♠

  Candles lit the cavernous bedchamber to gold, setting shadows dancing in the corners. Wearing a crimson dressing gown over his nakedness, Alexander quietly closed the door from the adjoining chamber.

  He stepped toward the huge four-poster in the center of the room. Sitting against piled pillows in the midst of all this grandeur was one small woman wearing a plain white flannel nightgown. She clutched the blankets to her chest .

  He didn’t need to see her slender throat move as she swallowed to know that the girl was petrified.

  “Your Grace,” Emma whispered.

  "Your Grace,” he responded, smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion. The impulse rose to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be fine, but he beat it back.

  Now that he noted how scared she looked he wondered if he’d have done better to keep her company. On her own, she’d clearly tormented herself with imaginary terrors.

  “Would you like something to eat?”

  Her pale face and glittering eyes told him that he needed to work up to discussing anything important.

  She shook her head. Her hair lay loose around her shoulders. He’d never seen her hair undone. The flowing curtain transformed her into a mysterious and sensual creature.

  Watching him with her characteristic gravity, she was beautiful beyond fantasy. How strange to recognize that despite his experience, tonight he was a novice like his bride. Never had getting everything right mattered so much. He respected Emma’s strength, but despite her strength, she was delicate.

  At this moment, he made the silent vow that he’d never let her down. He poured claret for both of them and approached the bed, sitting to face her. Her mysterious blue eyes widened at his nearness but at least she didn’t shrink away. He passed his wife a glass of wine.

  “To our happiness.”

  After a hesitation that jabbed at his heart, she took a sip. “Should I lie down?”

  He hid a wince at the little question. He kept smiling, wishing she’d smile back.

  “Shall we talk for a few moments first?”

  The flash of relief in her eyes pricked his vanity. “Do you know what’s going to happen?”

  “My…my aunt told me.”

  Bloody hell. He could imagine how that had gone.

  He stepped nearer still, bringing them at once entirely too close together and not nearly close enough. The torchlight danced in his eyes and bathed his skin in a warm, golden glow. He looked . . . determined. Decided. But not altogether sure of himself.

  Instead of releasing her hand, he raised it to his lips and placed a soft, gentle kiss to her knuckles. Awareness raced down her back in a flurry of gooseflesh—he had never done such a thing before.

  When he lifted his head, his gaze flicked to just over her shoulder before meeting hers.

  “Do you trust me?” There was an edge to his voice that wasn’t there moments earlier.

  “Should I?” She didn’t know what he was asking, but she knew instinctually that it was important.

  “Probably not.”

  A ghost of a smile slipped over her lips. “Then you should not ask it of me.”

  With a sharp tug, he pulled her flat against his chest and before she could do little more than gasp, his lips crashed down upon hers. A thousand butterflies set flight in her stomach.

  She moaned with the pure pleasure of it. His lips were deliciously warm, and fit against hers as if they’d been molded for each other. The smell of his skin was like a drug, sending ribbons of pleasure through her whole body. It was perfection. Even better, if that was possible.

  Noting the spark of hope in her eyes, he gently brought his finger under her chin and tilted her head back so he could get a better look at her.

  She wasn’t trying to get away from him. In fact, she was still looking at him, and better yet, the wall she’d erected to keep him ou
t had faded. She had finally let him in. But just as soon as she seemed to be opening up to him, she pulled away.

  He pulled back slightly and whispered against her lips, “I’m sorry.”

  Sorry? Bewilderment stilled her body, and a heartbeat later he launched himself backwards, as if pushed by an unseen force.

  “You are aware, of course, that I returned home from Scotland to discover that the lady I had assumed I would marry had already married another?” Alexander said.

  “I am afraid so. It is impossible to escape gossip, especially when everybody seems so awfully keen to pass it on. "

  "I was so shocked for so many days that I could hardly work out how I really felt about things. I was so shocked that I was not even hurt in the beginning.”

  “Yes, I understand. But you are hurt now, Your Grace? Now that the shock has worn off, you are most terribly hurt, are you not?”

  “It is very difficult thing for a man to say, but yes, I had never imagined it was possible to feel so very low. I loved Bridget so much. Since then I have never trusted any woman. I haven't loved any woman. Until I met you. You are so beautiful, so intelligent, so brave... I'm sorry I acted like a barbarian."

  His heart gave a mighty thud of thankfulness when she curled her fingers around his. She took another sip of wine. Whether it was the warm room or the claret or his presence, she looked considerably more spirited than she had earlier.

  Exquisitely aware of her innocence, he kissed her chastely, discovering the satiny texture of her lips and her tart, intriguing taste. To support his weight, he splayed his hands on the counterpane.

  With encouragement from the claret, she’d stopped acting as if he was about to devour her, but he knew he hadn’t banished her fears. After an interval both delightful and frustrating, she pressed forward with a breathy sigh. Reluctantly he withdrew. He lifted one hand to brush his thumb across her plump, glistening lips, pulling the lower one down to reveal a glimpse of straight white teeth.

  “I’m prepared to wait. We’re strangers, Emma. I want you, but I’m not a barbarian. If you’re not ready, I can give you more time.”

  She studied his face in silence. He struggled to convey patience and understanding, although she must also see his barely contained hunger. He steeled himself to retreat to the room next door.

  Reluctantly Alexander withdrew his hand and straightened.

  “The first time I saw you I wanted you. That’s why I kissed you. Every hour since then, I’ve wanted you more. Tonight I’m offering you a postponement, but I ... I can’t let you think that I’ll accept a chaste marriage.”

  “You have a husband’s rights.”

  “But I’m not a brute.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  Chapter Nine

  ♠♠♠

  The next day, Emma stood by the river. She made sure the manor was far away enough so that no one would see her. It was silly to worry, she supposed. She had been curious about what it would be like to feel the cool water on her feet.

  With another glance around to make sure no one was nearby, she slipped out of her riding boots then removed her stockings. She lifted the hem of her riding skirt and petticoats. Her heartbeat picked up in excitement as she stepped on the grass.

  She’d never exposed so much of herself in public in her entire life. Granted, no one was there to see her, but the possibility someone might was enough.

  Taking a deep breath, she edged closer to the river. The area was muddy, so she tried to be careful as she proceeded forward.

  But as she stepped down toward the river, she tripped on a tree root and lost her balance. Letting out a shriek, she let go of her skirt, her arms flailing in front of her in the most ridiculous fashion as she tried to find something to grab onto.

  But her efforts were in vain, and she only grasped a handful of mud on her way down into the water. She landed face first in the cold river. The whole thing happened so fast, she couldn’t even describe it to anyone who asked.

  But she ended up drenched from head to toe, mud clinging to her and blood seeping from her sleeve. Wincing, she sat up and peeled back her sleeve to see how badly she’d injured her arm.

  Relieved, she sighed. It was just a gash. Her sleeve had suffered the brunt of it. She’d never be able to wear this riding outfit again.

  She stood up and pushed the hair out of her eyes then picked up the hat, which was lying a few feet from her.

  She trudged back onto the grass and put her stockings and boots on. Though she was sore, she’d survive. Her biggest angst was being embarrassed when the others saw her. Reminding herself she was much better off getting dirty than breaking a bone, she rode to the stables.

  "Your Grace,” the startled stable boy said as he helped her dismount. “What happened?”

  “N-nothing,” she mumbled through chattering teeth.

  After she handed him the reins, she headed for the house, her skirt clinging to her legs, making it difficult to go as fast as she desired. When she finally made it to the steps of the front door, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  The footman opened the door, his jaw dropping at the sight of her.

  “I had an accident in the stream,” she said.

  Before he could say anything, she headed for the staircase. “Your Grace,” the butler called out as he hurried toward her. “Shall I have a bath drawn for you?”

  His gaze went to the blood soaking the sleeve of her dress. “And send someone to tend to your injury?”

  “It’s only a scratch,” she assured him as she slowly climbed the stairs. Her legs were bruised by the feel of it. “And yes, a bath would be nice.”

  “I’ll have a bath sent up immediately.”

  She thanked him and continued up the staircase. What a sight she must have made, what with the mud clinging to her and all.

  By the time she reached her bedchamber, she was shivering. She shut the door and started removing her clothes. Once she got out of them, she’d feel a lot better.

  There was a knock at her door. Figuring it was Bessie, she called out, “Enter,” and slipped out of the last of her things as the door opened and closed.

  “I heard you were hurt,” came a familiar voice that definitely didn’t belong to Bessie.

  Gasping, she looked up and saw Alexander. She made a futile attempt to cover herself.

  He headed over to her. “You’re bleeding.”

  “It’s nothing,” she said.

  “It’s not nothing. You’re dripping blood on the floor.”

  She groaned when she realized he wasn’t going to leave her alone. “It’s a gash, nothing more.”

  She held her wounded arm out to him while doing her best to cover herself with her other arm, and that really didn’t do much good.

  He gently took her arm and studied the long gash that ran from her elbow down to the middle of her arm. Dabbing the blood away with the sleeve of his shirt, he released his breath.

  “You’re right. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  “No, it’s not. Now can I have my arm back?”

  “Oh, of course.”

  She took the opportunity to try to conceal more of herself.

  When there was a knock at the door, she said, “That’s probably my bath.”

  “I’ll have them bring it in.”

  Before she could argue that she wanted him to get out of there so she could bathe in private, he was already at the door and telling the servants where to put the tub. She even overheard him telling Bessie that he was going to take care of her.

  Her eyes grew wide. What was he doing? It wasn’t his place to wash her or help her with her clothes. But she couldn’t speak up and protest, not when the servants were in the room. “I’m going to help you wash the mud out of your hair and tend to that arm.”

  His gaze lowered. “Did you hurt your legs?”

  “Bruises,” she muttered and hurried past him so she could get into the tub.

  She’d been standing naked in front of h
im long enough, and even though she did her best to hide her breasts and the other notable part of her body from him, she didn’t think she was doing that great of a job.

  She slipped into the tub and winced. The hot water was enough to sting her skin, but she would rather risk getting red than remain naked in front of him.

  “The maids brought in soap and towels,” he said, though she thought it unnecessary since they did that every time she took a bath. “They also brought bandages to put on your wound if necessary.”

  She nodded and got as comfortable as she could in the tub. She took a deep breath and brought her legs up to her chest. That was better. Now he couldn’t see so much of her.

  When she dared a glance over at him, he was rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He picked up the bar of soap and dipped it in the water.

  Her eyebrows furrowed. Didn’t he realize she was naked? He didn’t seem to be trying to peek at her body. Maybe he was so concerned about her that he wasn’t paying attention to what was really going on.

  “Can I wash your arm?” he asked.

  She held her arm out, and he knelt by the tub. He picked up the cloth and dipped it into the water. Then he lightly brushed it over her wound.

  She sharply inhaled. It might not have been a deep wound, but it still stung.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll be as gentle as I can,” he said then dabbed the water along the length of her injury. She bit down on her tongue. When he washed it with soap, it was worse. But then he rinsed it off by pouring water from a small bowl on it, and she relaxed.

  “Good. It looks like the bleeding is slowing down,” he commented. He let go of her arm then knelt behind her. He took the pins out of her hair and set them on the table.

  "Thank you,” she finally said. He didn’t have to tend to her wound and wash her up, but he was choosing to do that. And in none of his movements did he indicate that he planned to take her to bed.

  When he was done with her hair, he cleared his throat and stood up. “I’ll tell your maid to come in to help you get dressed for dinner.”

  “You’re leaving?”