by Eva Devon
Those three simple words felt like a punch to the stomach. She supposed she should praise his honesty, but still, she could not lie. It hurt. Of course that made no sense, for she did not wish to wed him. Still, the adamant tone of his voice as he told her how awful it was going to be to marry her?
But then he said, "Augusta, I don't wish to marry anyone. Anyone would fill me with impending dread.”
At least she was not special in that regard then.
She gave him a dry smile. "So we are to be miserable together.”
"No," he said. "We are to be miserable apart. I'm going to send you to the North Country if you'd like."
"I don't like that idea at all," she rushed.
“Truly? You struck me as the sort of person who would enjoy solitude."
"No," she said. "I don't enjoy solitude. It leaves one to their own thoughts. With far too many things going on in one's head. That's the most dangerous preoccupation."
He looked at her then curiously. "That is a very interesting thing to say for a young woman. What could you have in your head that is so very dark?"
"You've met my father. Have you not?"
“I saw him just this afternoon."
A shudder of dismay went through her. “He came here?"
"Yes, Augusta. He did."
How she wished she could go and find her father and wring his neck at his audacity. “I'm so terribly, terribly sorry."
"Do not apologize for him. You cannot control him. He is his own man."
"That may be true,” she replied, her heart heavy. “But wherever I go, I'm associated with him.”
“Now wherever you go, you will be associated with me and I with you, so we must be careful of each other's reputations."
"I suppose we must," she agreed. “But I shall not be a cause of scandal to you once we are wed."
“That upright, are you?”
The compliment somehow sounded like a criticism and she rankled at it.
Exasperated, she demanded, “What is it exactly that you wish from me? Your detailed letter did not actually say what sort of duchess you were hoping that I would be."
"I don't know," he sighed. "Not truly. I had thought you might prefer the country but since not. . . Truth be told, I don't fancy the idea of living in the same house with you.”
She blanched, even if she did feel the same herself. Hearing it aloud was quite different than thinking it. “Shall we live separately in London?”
“You would never survive the ton if we were to do something like that immediately,” he countered. “No, you will live in my house. Your sisters will come here too and for a while my aunt will live with us to assist in your transition to being the Duchess of Blacktower. Then we shall see."
Her sisters would have the privilege of living with a duke and being guided by one of the most powerful ladies in society. Their lives were forever altered and undoubtedly for the better, even if the man himself stood for almost everything she opposed.
“Are you not pleased by any of this?” he asked.
Pleased? How could she explain that she was overjoyed that her sisters would no longer live in poverty or uncertainty and yet, she could not stand that he was a pleasure-bound rake ruled by his desires. She knew the danger of where that led. “I cannot be pleased because we do not like each other."
"Augusta, do you think that's all there is to marriage?” he scoffed. “Liking? Most ton marriages have nothing to do with like."
The stark cynicism sent a chill through her. It was true and honest, but in her secret moments she had always longed for more. So, she wet her lips and heard herself query, “But what of love?"
“Love?" He stared at her. Those orbs of his darkened with a pain so sharp it felt as they were knives cutting into her heart. Then his gaze hardened to stone. “Love is a dangerous thing, Augusta. Love leads you into very dangerous situations. I will never fall in love.”
She held his gaze, aghast, as she realized that in some deep, small treacherous part of her heart, she had wondered if there would ever be any chance between them for love. Now with his declaration uttered between them, she knew that love was something she would never know.
"I should go," she rushed.
"Yes," he agreed. "That would be for the best. I'm not entirely sure why you came.”
At that, she remembered the strength inside her and her determination not to be shunted about for the rest of her life.
Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she said firmly, “I came because I want you to know that I won’t always be managed about and told what to do. That I have a purpose of my own. I will be a good duchess. I will be the best.”
She stood before him, her insides in such turmoil she feared she might begin to shake with the determination rattling through her. As she waited for his response, she felt pride in her ability to meet him in his own home and declare her intent.
He took a step forward, his tight breeches straining against his powerful thighs. The nearer he approached, the more evident the difference in their heights. He gazed down at her, his head tilted slightly. ”I admire your candor and your passion."
“I am not passionate," she protested.
"You are, Augusta,” he insisted, his gaze searching over her face. “The way you spoke just now. . . If you could see yourself, you would see the passion of a thousand fiery suns as you stood up for your beliefs and your person."
The compliment burned her, much like the suns he spoke of might have done. She was not accustomed to them and she could hardly believe he was in earnest.
In defense, she folded her arms just beneath her breasts. "I do not know if that is true."
The action drew his gaze to the movement for a moment before he lifted his gaze back to her face.
"Oh, it is,” he assured her. “A woman like you will always fight for what she believes in, whether I disagree with it or not."
Those words filled her with confusion, for they were high praise indeed.
"I'm glad that you understand that," she said. She felt herself hesitating, knowing she should go but finding herself unwilling. “So, you will allow me to stay in London then?"
“Correct.”
“And you shall no more go a gallivanting?” she tested, not truly believing his earlier claim.
"Oh, I will still gallivant about London, but not with ladies.” His chest expanded as he drew in a long breath. “There’s a great many things that I can do to alleviate the boredom of life."
"You're bored?" she gasped, a good dose of shock coursing through her at his outrageous claim. "How can you possibly be bored, a man of your possibility and position?"
A strange, jaded look crossed his face before a slow smile, a smile which bespoke knowledge to which she had no experience, tilted his sensual lips.
"Because every day is essentially the same, Augusta,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I get up, and I read the news sheet. I go to Parliament, and I labor on behalf of my country. I am defeated. I come home, and I eat my dinner. I go out and see the same people."
"My goodness.” Augusta furrowed her brow. Could he hear himself? She supposed she could understand his frustration, but she couldn’t sympathize with his position. "But think of this, you could have my life instead. You could get up in the morning, drink your tea because that is what is allowed to you. Read the paper that is second hand. Write a few letters, read your book, and not even be allowed to leave the house unless you go out with your sister.”
The weight of her own rather limited existence fell upon her and she rushed, “And then, well, imagine hoping beyond hope that you will not be left completely alone for the entire evening at a ball. . . Until finally you cannot hope anymore and you are left alone every evening at a ball. So, you become so accustomed to it that you pretend to enjoy it."
"Pretend?" he queried. His gaze searched over her face as if he could somehow peer into the inner workings of her soul.
She suddenly tensed, feeling seen in a way s
he’d never allowed.
Augusta swallowed and shook her head. "I don't wish to discuss it further. I didn't mean to..."
"Reveal yourself," he finished. “I must say, I’m surprised, Augusta, that you should make yourself vulnerable before me.”
"You have a most irritating nature," she said, arching a brow. "I do not like you, and yet you somehow make me wish to speak my mind and say it loudly."
"Good," he returned. “Speak it loudly. That’s what we should all do in this life. We should say exactly what we're thinking whenever we can.”
"But if we do that," she said, "we can crush other people." "Hmm," he said, "I think a good many people probably deserve to be crushed."
"Not my sisters," she said. "I couldn't be honest with them for the longest time and when I was honest with my father, it never awarded me anything."
"Life is not fair,” he agreed. "It is a maxim that is often repeated, but it is true."
"I suppose," she said. "But haven't you known a remarkable life?" "Oh, it's been remarkable," he said, "but not fair, nor largely pleasant."
"I don't understand, considering that you pursue pleasure so much."
"Pleasure is not happiness, Augusta.” His eyes burned with a dark emotion. “You can still feel a great deal of pain inside your heart and soul when you experience pleasure."
She was astounded by his statement and she took him in anew then, trying to understand him.
As she studied him, he slowly crossed the room towards her. When he stood but a few inches before her, she could feel him. The power of his body, the delicious scent of leather, lemon, and something she could not quite identify. He angled his head towards her.
And given the vast difference in her height, she tilted her head back, determined to meet his gaze without hesitation.
"You are such a fierce thing," he observed. "How were you shaped so in the fires of your father's misdeeds?"
And with that his hand lifted and briefly touched her cheek. It traced down to her jawline and tipped her chin upward. “You are most curious," he said. "I do not know what to make of you."
“Or I you," she breathed. "I suppose we shall have years to make sense of each other. That is, if you spend any time with me at all, but I don't think you intend to."
“No," he whispered. "I do not."
But then, much to her amazement, he leaned down and let his lips linger over hers. His eyes half closed as he lightly touched her lips with his.
He lifted his head then as if he was about to stop, to walk away, to cease.
The world spun around her. This was madness! She'd never thought to kiss such a man in all her life. Yet here she was. In his lair.
And the touch of his lips. . . ’Twas like tinder and flint.
“I’ve never been kissed before," she confessed.
"Did you like it?" he asked.
"I don't know,” she admitted, her voice unrecognizable to her own ears. “Would you do it again? I think that's the only way that I shall be able to tell."
"In the name of research then," he said, his voice rough yet seductive.
He lowered his mouth to hers again.
Much to her astonishment, the touch of his lips was the most remarkable thing she'd ever experienced in the entirety of her life. In general, she was not allowed to be around men. She observed them, of course, from a distance across the ballroom, but that was an entirely different affair. They were dressed in perfectly starched clothes, their hair groomed to perfection, their words chosen carefully for the delicate ears of a lady. She had very little experience of gentlemen in any other setting, and now here she was with one of the wildest men in London.
He was barely clothed!
And his mouth, goodness, his soft, strong mouth was upon hers.
It seemed to give as well as take as he caressed her lips with his own. She could barely think. Her thoughts fell about her as feathers do when a pillow bursts.
How could she concentrate with his mouth upon hers so passionately?
The soft warmth of it was seductive, suggestive, lulling her closer. His hands were at his sides until, much to her amazement, she found his palms gently caressing her lower back. And as he did so, her balance skewed and she let out a cry of surprise. Her hands met the hard breadth of his shoulders as she caught herself.
His mouth opened and he teased her lips with his tongue.
She gasped, astonished that he could do such a thing.
Was this what kissing could be?
She'd heard about the delights of it.
Of course, she'd read Romeo and Juliet. And she'd seen the play.
What fool hadn't seen it?
She knew that kissing was supposed to be the most marvelous thing in the whole world, and yet she'd been certain it would never occur for her. Certainly not with a man like this.
She knew she should be horrified to be seduced by such a ruinous man, to pull back, to strike him even.
She was not a lady to be trifled with and yet. . . Yet, the taste of him, the pleasure of his mouth upon hers was impossible to fathom.
His body angled her back, seemingly overpowering her, but she did not feel overwhelmed.
The breadth of his hard chest pressed against her breasts and she let out a little shiver of delight at the sensation. Her hands slid upward towards his neck, her fingers touching his hair. He cocked his head to the side and his own hands roved up her back.
One cupped the nape of her neck, angling her head so that he could kiss her deeper. His mouth opened wider and he seemed to be stealing the breath from her very lungs, but it was not an unpleasant thing.
In fact, every moment tossed her from cloud to cloud, making her feel completely alive as if she was about to fly from this room, out of the city, out of the country, and into the heavens.
Was such a thing possible?
It certainly seemed so.
She was surrounded by him, completed by him, and she longed to pull herself closer into him despite the fact that it defied every bit of reason that she'd ever known.
At this moment, she wished to throw reason away and do nothing but taste him, touch him, feel the experience of this.
For all her life, she knew she'd been little more than a prisoner in her father's house and now she was to be free from it.
How she longed to experience the many things she never had before. Dare she do thus with this man? Dare she open her heart and her mind and her soul to adventure?
Adventure terrified her. Adventure led to ruin. And so, suddenly, she pulled back. "Your Grace, I am sorry, I cannot."
“Adam,” he reminded, his lips slightly parted and his gaze half hooded. “Do not apologize. It is I who should apologize. You are a young lady who has known little impropriety, and I should not have presumed to teach you. Not before we are wed.”
Not before we are wed. Those words coursed through her like hot wine. Decadent, rich, full of warmth.
His voice was ragged.
His breath uneven, as was hers, she realized.
In fact, she could not draw a steady breath.
Her entire body felt off balance, her skin alert to the room, to the world, to him. She longed to go back into his arms, but she knew that she could not, for to do something so shocking would be to abandon everything she ever believed.
No, one could not have too much, feel too much, for that way lay disaster. She gave a quick curtsy.
"Still, I apologize, your Gr— Adam,” she managed to correct herself. “I never should have come. It was a mistake and I—”
"Lady Augusta,” he cut in. “Do not apologize for being true to yourself, or to acting so boldly. It is a good sign for your future."
"It is a sign of impending doom," she contradicted. And with that she turned on her heel and dashed from the room.
Chapter 12
Adam watched her go, barely able to contain the desire pounding through him. She raced from his room as if he had the plague and she might catch it at any moment, simp
ly from being near him. But she was no coward.
Oh, no.
Lady Augusta was a young woman full of surprises. In fact, he had a feeling that no one had ever appreciated her unique qualities.
All her life, she’d almost certainly faced criticism and disdain from her father and society.
He too had been guilty of it, but this night he had been awakened to the fact that she was a strong young woman who was not afraid to speak her mind.
Damnation. He drove his hand through his hair and then wiped it across his chagrined face.
He desired his future wife.
How the bloody hell had that happened?
It was appalling. He was not supposed to desire her. He was not supposed to want her. He was not supposed to like her at all.
These three things rang through his head like a gong and he wished that he could drive them out.
All those realizations could break his vow further.
That could not be allowed to happen.
But there was something he could not deny.
If Lady Augusta had allowed him, he would have drawn her further into his room, laid her down upon the chaise lounge, slid her skirts up her thighs, and feasted upon her in entirely ravenous ways. Bloody hell. She'd come here to tell him she wouldn’t be managed. That she preferred to stay in London.
Given his now undeniable desire for the odd young woman, he absolutely should send her off to his estates where he wouldn’t be tempted.
But he found he couldn’t do that to her. She’d survived so much already.
How the devil was he going to survive weeks or months or years in the same house with her?
Would he leave her a virgin?
No. They were to be married. But he had never thought to have a passion for her.
Now standing alone in the quiet of his room with the fire crackling, he forced himself to face the truth, a truth he'd been desperately avoiding since they'd been found in that blasted hall.
She was to be his wife and there was no getting around it.
And he was going to do as promised. He would not have mistresses. That was not the sort of man he was. He would not make his wife's reputation about Town that of a cuckold, that of a tolerant wife.
No, he couldn’t. He’d never been a bastard. Almost all that he’d done had been to wreak revenge upon his father. He would not begin destroying the hearts of others now for convenience or lust.
