The Reluctant Duchess

by Jane Goodger

  She ducked her head and at first he thought she was being shy, but then felt her tongue on his flesh. “I should like that.”

  Rebecca was shocking herself probably as much as she was shocking her new husband, but she knew her attention was pleasing him. Well, she could feel how she was pleasing him, given that she was sitting on his lap, but it was more than that. Surprising her with his strength, he lifted her easily off his lap and stood. Though she had lit three lamps, it was a large room and much of it was still cast in shadow, lending an air of hominess. She settled on the chair and looked at Oliver, who suddenly seemed uncertain.

  “You cannot back down now, sir, not after that bold question.”

  He glanced at the fire, squinting his eyes a bit, as if he were looking at the brightness of the sun. “No one has ever seen me,” he said softly.

  “Then it is good that the first person who does should be your wife,” Rebecca said lightly, though inside her nerves were a-jumble, not for her but for him.

  In one swift movement, he untied the belt and dropped the robe and for a long moment, Rebecca could not speak. He was utterly perfect, a man made of the purest marble, muscles taut and sculpted, torso flat and ridged, his chest covered lightly with the whitest hair. He was beautiful. To think he’d been made to feel like a monster.

  “Oh, Oliver,” she said, her throat closing slightly with emotion. “You are spectacular.” Her eyes dipped below his waist, and she smiled. That part of him look rather angry and red at the moment.

  “Would you mind very much undressing for me? It’s only fair. It’s rather cold and I’d like to get to the good parts.”

  Rebecca giggled. “You hound,” she said, then turned around so that he might undo her buttons.

  “Good God, am I expected to do this?” he asked, running his hand down the length of her dress, his fingers following the line of buttons.

  “Only if you want to get to the good parts.”

  With a quick growl, he began tackling the buttons. In short work, she was down to her chemise and he was on the bed, under the covers. “I don’t usually go around unclothed in the autumn. Come here and warm me, Rebecca.”

  After unclipping her stockings from her garters and tossing them aside, Rebecca slid the garters down and ran to the bed, diving on top and under the covers he held open for her. “I don’t think I shall ever get used to this cold,” she said, snuggling into the warmth of her husband.

  “I don’t think I shall ever get used to your icy feet.”

  She tucked them up against his calves and he laughed. “But you’re so warm. It doesn’t get cold in St. Ives, not like this, but on the coldest winter nights, my mother would heat bricks by the fire, then wrap them up and put them in our beds so that when we got in, it was all cozy and warm. You shall be my heated bricks.”

  “I should like to be more than that,” he said lazily, bringing one hand up to tease a nipple through the thin cloth of her chemise. “Why are you still dressed?” He dipped his head and licked her and Rebecca let out a small gasp of pleasure.

  “I’m hardly dressed, Your Grace.”

  “Oliver.”

  Laughing lightly, she untied the ribbons on her chemise, sighing contentedly when he pushed the material down and took her nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly. It was fascinating to see how pale he was against her rosy skin. She sank her fingers into his soft white hair and pulled him closer, reveling in the feel of his tongue, his mouth, his teeth on her stiffened peak. “I could let you do that for hours,” she whispered, and he chuckled, a low and wonderfully masculine sound.

  A noise from within the room made Rebecca stiffen. “Oliver?”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Did you hear that?”

  He stopped immediately and looked down at her. “What?”

  “I heard a noise. I swear it sounded as if it came from within the room.”

  “Wait here,” Oliver said, in a commanding tone Rebecca had never heard before. He tore off the covers, strode to the adjoining door and disappeared into his room. Rebecca stayed in bed, sitting up, ears trained for any unusual sound, eyes wide, heart pounding. Whatever she had heard, obviously Oliver had an idea what it was.

  And then an object leapt onto the bed and Rebecca screamed, the sort of scream one emits when confronted by some horrible wild beast. In this case, though, it was a black cat, one Rebecca had never seen before. Within seconds, Oliver was back in the room, running toward her until he spied the object of her fear.

  “Satan,” he said. “What the devil are you doing in here?”

  “S-Satan?”

  “My cat.” He plucked the creature off the bed and tossed it into his own room before shutting the door.

  “Yes, I could see it was a cat,” Rebecca said dryly. “I haven’t come across it before.”

  “He usually is in the tower with me, but he was not there today. I expect he was outside as the weather was a bit warmer today. A wonderful mouser, he is. Harmless fellow.”

  “Harmless.” Rebecca let out shaky laugh. “Are you hiding any other beasts in this house, sir?”

  “Only this one, and he is hungry.” He looked down toward his manhood and Rebecca laughed.

  “He is, is he?”

  “Ravenous.”

  “We shall have to feed the poor fellow,” Rebecca said, wrapping her hand around him, feeling him for the first time.

  “I rather like that.”

  “I rather like that, too.”

  Chapter 7

  Since his father’s death, Oliver frequently used the secret passageways in Horncliffe rather than risk running into the army of servants Winters managed. As a boy, the passageways were an endless source of fascination, a wonderful secret only he and a few others even knew about. Winters always said if the servants were aware of the passages, they would begin to secretly use them for all sorts of nefarious purposes. Oliver never asked what those nefarious purposes could possibly be, and when he was eight years old, he didn’t even know what nefarious meant. He only knew that the passages were lovely and a grand secret.

  As he got older, they were a means of staying hidden and separate from the inner workings of the house. The older he got, the more imperative it was that he not be seen, until he sometimes went months without meeting another soul except Winters. It simply was the way he lived and he’d never considered questioning it. His affliction made such a life necessary. When he was eighteen, he’d ventured into the music room only to find a young maid there; she had let out a screech and run from the room. Deep humiliation had left him burning and he’d made sure such a mistake never happened again. The girl had been pretty, not much older than he, and she had run from him in fear, as if he were the very devil himself. Later, Winters told him the maid had been dismissed, for she’d grown hysterical, repeating her encounter to anyone who would listen.

  “You see why I must protect you, Your Grace,” Winters had said.

  Oliver had wanted to scream at him that he did not understand. But he did. Since his father’s death, he’d come to realize what he was, why others feared him. No one else had strange eyes and shocking white hair. No one else had pale, pale skin. He was the only one. Alone but for Mr. Winters. Over the years, he accepted his fate and gave little thought to how his rooms were cleaned, how his clothes were washed, how his food was prepared. From the earliest memory, everything was simply…done. Of course, on some level he knew that servants were busy somewhere in the household, doing something.

  It did not help that on the rare occasions he did walk the halls of Horncliffe and happened to run into a hapless maid, she froze on the spot, clearly terrified. Every time, he would feel that awful mix of humiliation and anger. And shame.

  Those same servants were now lined up by rank, no doubt shaking in fear that the master of the house was, for the first time, going to greet them. It simply had never
occurred to him to do so. Mr. Winters handled all that, and Oliver had happily let him. Why subject the servants to his presence when they were so clearly frightened of him?

  On this occasion, Mr. Winters had acted as his valet, for he’d had no need of one up to this point. At least, he hadn’t had need of one prior to getting married. He’d had no need of formal clothes or even of ordinary clothes, and so he’d had one of Mr. Winters’s suits altered for him on this occasion. Oliver was quite a bit taller and broader than Mr. Winters, so the results were not ideal but it would have to do for now. He realized that if he were to go out into the world, travel to London to get his spectacles manufactured, he would have to have a valet. And new clothes. Certainly, Rebecca needed a wardrobe befitting a duchess. The dresses he’d seen were more suited to a governess than a duchess, according to Winters.

  While Winters tugged and adjusted the ill-fitting suit, Rebecca watched, perched on the edge of a chair, giving silent encouragement with her smiles. He was certain she could not know what a monumental thing this was, to expose himself so openly to a group of people who feared him. Indeed, he was feeling rather frightened at the moment. He never had liked people staring at him or worse, looking away so as not to stare. When he was young, he’d had all manner of tutors and all of them had avoided looking directly at him. It had never seemed strange or hurtful; it simply was. He wondered, now, if this was also Winters’ doing. Had he ordered them not to look at him? He was not unique, but his condition was rare and it was possible few if any of his tutors had ever seen a person with albinism. His father had mentioned that it was his eyes that made most people uncomfortable. They were violet and translucent, a color not found in ordinary folk, and could be disconcerting to people who did not know him. Rebecca had called them beautiful.

  “How many servants do you have now?” he asked.

  Winters answered, “Thirty-one, Your Grace.”

  “And that is adequate?”

  “More than adequate, Your Grace.”.

  “Do you believe Horncliffe to be overstaffed?” Rebecca asked. “It seems to be a rather large number of servants for two people.”

  Winters hesitated a moment before saying, “In order to maintain the high level of cleanliness I require, I do believe Horncliffe is adequately staffed. Many grand houses have more. That does not, of course, include the outdoor staff. I thought this day, it would suffice to see only the indoor staff.”

  “Yes, I agree,” Oliver said, though he hadn’t any idea what the outdoor staff did. Kept the grounds, perhaps, and took care of the cattle. How long had it been since he’d ridden the lands? He’d only done so at dusk or before dawn, as he was unable to bear the harsh light of day. No wonder the servants thought him a ghost.

  “Perhaps if we begin entertaining, we shall require a larger staff,” Rebecca said uncertainly.

  It ought to terrify him, all this change. Instead, he found himself surprised to feel excitement mixed in with the terror. Uncertainty, excitement, change. He had brought this all upon himself when he’d decided to take a wife, and damn if it didn’t feel a bit grand.

  Mr. Winters gave his cravat one sharp, almost painful, tug before stepping back. “I believe you are ready, Your Grace. I shall make certain the servants are all gathered and presentable, shall I?”

  “Yes, Mr. Winters. Please do. The duchess and I will be down momentarily.”

  Mr. Winters was about to leave, but stopped. “Remember, Your Grace, they are simply ignorant servants. Do not expect too much of them.”

  “I expect them only to not run away in fear,” Oliver said dryly.

  “Yes, sir.”

  After Winters had gone, Rebecca rushed over to give him a peck on the cheek. “You look dashing.”

  “Do I?” Oliver asked with clear skepticism.

  She looked him over and he could tell she was frowning slightly. “You’ve shaved,” she offered. “And had your hair cut, I see.”

  He spread his arms out. “And the suit?”

  “It will do for now, but I do believe, Your Grace, that a visit to the tailor is warranted. I have no idea who would be best for a man of your rank, but I shall find out. My dear friend Alice is the granddaughter of a duke and she knows such things. I shall write her and ask all sorts of questions. Do you think you’d be able to make a trip to London?”

  He went to her and drew her against him. “If only to see whether I could find some spectacles so I can stare endlessly at your beauty.”

  As he thought she would, Rebecca burst out laughing. “Go on with you,” she said, giving him a playful shove. She was close enough he could see her expression go somber. “Are you ready for this? I can’t imagine it will be easy for you.”

  “If I cannot do this, I am not much of a duke, am I?”

  She smiled and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Then let us face the lions together, shall we?”

  “I hardly think the servants are as ferocious as all that.” He laughed, but inside, he was more than nervous. These were people who had worked for him for years, who had skittered away in fear, heads down, whenever he’d happened upon one of them. Today, he would ask that they look at him, acknowledge that he was an ordinary man, or at the very least, an ordinary duke.

  “If they run from the room screaming, shall we let them go?” Rebecca asked, laughter in her voice.

  “I know you think are you amusing…”

  “I am amusing.” He chuckled and she squeezed his arm. “See? I was amusing.”

  He was still smiling when he walked down the long, sweeping staircase to find a line of thirty-one servants standing at attention with Mr. Winters facing them, his arms behind his back, one hand clasping the other wrist. He looked, Oliver imagined, like a general facing his frightened troops right before a battle they were certain to die in. When Oliver reached the gleaming marble floor of the great hall, Winters bowed deeply and stepped back.

  He was suddenly and ridiculously nervous. His footsteps sounded overloud on the marble floor, somehow menacing. They stood there, each with eyes cast downward, stiff and terrified. Good God.

  “I would like to introduce myself,” he said, his voice sounding overloud. “And my duchess. I am Oliver Sterling, Duke of Kendal, and this is your new duchess.”

  Not a single movement.

  “Curtsy and bow,” Winters boomed.

  In a flurry, each, depending on his or her gender, did as Winters demanded, and Oliver winced.

  Oliver gave Rebecca a sick look, and she responded with an encouraging smile. “I am not a ghost, nor a demon,” he said, his eyes moving down the line. He couldn’t help but notice more than one maid shrinking away, as if he were about to pounce. “I have a condition called albinism. I was born with it and there is no cure. It affects only the color of my skin, hair, and eyes. My vision is weak, but my mind is sound. Other than that, I am simply a man. You need not fear me. You need not avert your eyes. I have no power over you other than to dismiss you. Please look at me and you shall see there is nothing to fear.”

  Not one servant looked up, and Oliver felt his frustration and anger growing. He didn’t realize how angry he was becoming until Rebecca gently squeezed his rock-hard arm. One little maid began weeping, her squeaking sobs bouncing off the floor and ceiling. Bloody hell.

  Mr. Winters stalked behind the line and went directly to the maid. Taking his hands, he clasped her jaw on either side and forced the girl’s head up. “His Grace said to look at him,” he said harshly, and the maid began to sob in earnest, her eyes squeezed shut. Oliver’s face heated with humiliation and it took all his resolve not to spin about and leave. He might have done so if he had not felt Rebecca give his arm a reassuring squeeze.

  “Enough, Mr. Winters,” he said. “You may leave us. I fear your presence is only making matters worse.”

  Winters’ face paled, but he dropped his hands and gave Ol
iver a small bow—a very nearly mocking bow—before leaving the hall, his body stiff with anger. He’d left red imprints of his fingers on the maid’s pale skin, and Oliver frowned heavily, disturbed by Winters’ actions. Oliver watched his progress, remaining silent until Winters had reached the stop of the stairs and disappeared down the hall toward his rooms. Meanwhile, the first maid was still crying and another next to her had begun. Good God, they were all terrified. He felt himself heat with humiliation. This could not continue, not if he were to have any semblance of a normal life.

  “Your Grace,” he said finally, loudly. “Please face me and stare into my eyes.”

  Rebecca turned to him, the gentlest of smiles on her face, but her eyes held something he could not identify. And then she contorted and froze. As one, the servants gasped. Within seconds, Rebecca swept her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing aloud, but her entire body was shaking with mirth, her eyes half-moons of delight. The little scamp.

  “I-I’m sorry, Oliver, but it’s all so silly,” she said, hardly getting the words out, she was laughing so hard. “To th-think they believed I’d actually turn to st-stone.” She glanced at the servants, who stared at her slack-jawed. “For goodness’ sake, he can’t turn me to stone. He’s just an ordinary man. Actually, not ordinary, but extraordinary.”

  Oliver couldn’t help himself, he started laughing too, until he could hardly stand upright. When Rebecca kissed his cheek, a rather shocking display in front of the servants, he blushed red.

  “Your Grace,” Mr. Starke said, “on behalf of myself and all the servants, we pray you will forgive us our outrageous behavior.”

  “I knew it,” his wife’s maid said beneath her breath, and beside him, Rebecca let out a small laugh.

  The little maid who had gone into hysterics looked at the two of them warily and hiccuped softly.

  “I can hardly blame you for believing such tall tales,” he said. “I certainly did nothing to disabuse you of the notion and for that, I apologize.” It might not be the thing for a member of the peerage to apologize to his servants, but Oliver didn’t see the harm, not if it meant they could somehow turn Horncliffe into a somewhat normal household. “I do not wish to hear another tale or wild rumor that I am possessed by the devil or even the devil himself. That, I would not take kindly to.”