The Duke's Headstrong Woman: True Love In London (Regency Romance: Strong Women Find True Love Book 2)

by Virginia Vice

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The storm had begun to rumble to a close, just as the old logs burned out their last few sparking embers; and by that time, Lord Beckham and Lady Havenshire had spent the entirety of the afternoon, into the beginning of the evening, simply laying together; enjoying the feeling of warmth their bodies gave one another. They had slipped into a much-needed nap together, and Lord Beckham's eyes opened from sweet reverie only a few moments after they had drifted into slumber. Lady Havenshire tossed in her sleep, her nude body shuddering; Lord Beckham grasped his coat, pulling it gently atop the two of them, which seemed to calm her raucous tossing and comfort her. He exhaled deeply, so taken with how perfect things had gone today between the two of them.

  A few subsiding thunderclaps filled the air, though none loud enough to wake Nadia from her rest; and for that, the lord was thankful, as he thought after such an afternoon, she needed her sleep. He, on the other hand, could scarcely still the hot, fast pounding of his heart; he had again felt the touch of a woman, a woman who seemed so deeply to care for him, and had begun to wonder if he had found something he thought he never could again - true love, like he had with Anna. He smiled quietly to himself as he wrapped an arm around Lady Havenshire, holding her close to his sweat-tinged chest; he exhaled into her ear, silently whispering into her dreams, though he had no way of knowing if she'd ever hear his coy admissions, or simply write them off as the murmurings of her own, fevered dreams.

  "I think I love you, Nadia... I didn't know if I could ever love again, but... something in my heart, beats just for you," he whispered, closing his eyes. He felt an ethereal comfort fall upon his shoulder; she wriggled in his grasp, cuddling closer against the duke's body, and he soon fell off the edge of consciousness and into deep dreaming.

  And what he saw hadn't changed.

  Dreams took him to a place far in the past, far from the estate. The rumble of the thunder and the fall of the rain through the forest had brought his mind back to dark places, even if he hadn't noticed it. As the rain fell overhead, it fell in Lord Beckham's dreams; he saw her, again; the face he had hoped to never see again. Anna - his love, the woman who had left him on the day of their wedding. He found a letter from her atop his desk, after the rainstorm began to fall over the wedding. The storm raging outside of the cabin, as Lord Beckham lay in restless sleep, brought his mind back to that day; to the letter that had so shattered him for so long.

  I can't simply remain with a man as complacent as thee, it had said. Anna always had a method of cutting at Lord Beckham's heart, and she would, so often, no matter how much love he heaped upon her. You'll never be a man capable of having me. A woman needs something more than satisfaction. The Lord Timonere can offer me so much more than that.

  He had never expected it - for her to leave him, so coldly. Outside of the reverie Lord Beckham turned, brow coated in sweat; he breathed hard, distressed, as the thunderstorm crackled in his memories; as the dreams ravaged him with pain at the loss. She had told him he'd never be good enough for a true woman, and he had kept loving her.

  A crack of thunder rattled the cabin and Lord Beckham shot up from sleep, awoken by the sound, the sting of Anna's letter still fresh in his memory. Startled awake, Nadia's expression, full of concern, turned to her lover.

  "Marshall? What's bothering you?" she asked, her voice a wobbly whisper, her eyes vexed in worry. He looked away, to the fireplace; he watched those last few embers crackle and die away, struggling in search of an answer to calm her.

  "There's no need to worry, Nadia," he insisted, leaning down to kiss her on the lips. With that kiss her worries ebbed away and she snuggled in comfort beneath the coat again, wrapping her hand around the duke's waist.

  But something did quite deeply, profoundly worry him. His mind alight, he breathed deep, listening to the rain. It had slowed, and the thunder had faded, but each fallen raindrop reminded him of that day. Each patter brought him back to rain falling upon benches; sorrow-filled revelers gathered beneath the mansion's arcade, watching as the bouquet of flowers the lord had ordered for his bride lay soaked, drowned in the rain.

  He had let Anna down. He could never make a woman happy - not with his face, or his body, or the way he talked. A woman wanted drive; a woman wanted ambition, a woman wanted everything he wasn't.

  He sat, and he thought. How did he know he wouldn't let Nadia down, too?

  The dreams dwelt, no matter how he tried to push them away. The thought of that letter - of the lovely times he'd had with Anna. Ms. Cauthfield had never been one to mince words on her feelings about Anna - she saw the woman as a scheming, social climber, who had never truly cared for Lord Beckham but only for the Berrewithe estate and the position it earned her. But whether that had been true or not, Marshall had truly loved her - as cruel and capricious as she could be, he had stayed by her, forgiven her; he had accepted her for her. Like Nadia, her father had considered Anna quite unmarriageable - a wild spirit that would bite as quickly as it kissed.

  The fear began to set into his gut; he felt stricken, nearly ill at the thought of his desire for Nadia leading down that same, disastrous path. He swallowed hard, grasping his head as the thoughts came; tears, tears flowed at his cheeks as he remembered Anna. He looked to Nadia - so peaceful in her sleep, and he knew all at once that nothing good could come of this. He'd never be for Nadia what he hadn't been for Anna - or for any woman. She would find only disappointment in a life at his side.

  He laid onto his back, sighing deeply. He had taken something from Nadia she could never again have by making love to her, and now regret stewed in his stomach. She had given him something so precious - and he could never repay her for it. The doubt shrouded his senses like the storm shrouded the moors; the clouds flooded him with loathing instead of rain, chilled him to the bone. He saw beautiful Nadia's face as the last light of the fireplace highlighted her young features, and in that face he suddenly saw Anna - laughing, laughing at him. Telling him he'd been a fool to think he could ever make a woman happy again.

  Gently, Lord Beckham lifted himself from the couch, one step after the other; he found his shirt, thrown onto the floor, still lain in a puddle of pooling rainwater. He wrung the garment out, leaving it creased with wrinkles; nonetheless, he hastily buttoned it onto his body. It felt cold on his skin, but he needed something - anything, to still the pounding burst of his hot heart. He had decided that all of this had been a great mistake - one he had foolishly led himself straight into. He straightened his breeches and pulled his boots back onto his feet, exhaling sharply. As the fire died away he pulled from the pile another log and threw it upon the stack, watching as those few sparking embers remaining ignited the dried wood in another flash of yellow-orange.

  That should be enough to keep her warm until she awoke, he thought.

  He wouldn't let her down, the way he had let Anna down. And he knew she could never love him - but he would give her something she could at least appreciate. Something to make up for this twisted system that left her a prisoner; the twisted system that had estranged his dear sister. He'd make it up to Leah, and to Nadia; he'd make it up to everyone, even if he could never be good enough for them.

  A marriage of convenience... he thought, it's the only way he could make Nadia truly happy.

  "Are you leaving me already?" the sweet voice broke in to his dour thoughts, and he glanced suddenly to the couch, catching sight of Lady Havenshire beneath his coat, smiling. "But we've only just gotten to know each other, Lord Beckham..." she teased. His heart throbbed weakly; he had hoped to be away before she awoke, to deal with this, so that he need not face the pain of hearing her beautiful voice, or seeing her beautiful face, and being reminded of how he would be destined only to fail her.

  "I... m'lady, I'm glad you're... awake," he murmured, without conviction. She smiled and crawled off the couch, looking through the window; he admired her, watching her naked rear as she held the coat to her front and strolled towards the window.


  "The storm's stopped has it? Quite opportune, I suppose," she smirked. "My father will be wondering what we've been doing..." her impish smirk widened.

  "He'd not be quite enamored with me if he knew the truth," Lord Beckham admitted shamefully, his words short and stilted. Lady Havenshire smiled and sashayed in his direction, laying her head against his chest; he felt rigid, nervous, not reciprocating the gesture.

  "Nonsense, he's been trying to marry me off to you since the moment old Henrietta began gabbing in his ear," she chuckled.

  "We're not married yet, m'lady," he rather sharply pointed out.

  "And? I'm a fiery spirit, after all. Father thought me unmarriageable. Perhaps you'll prove him wrong some day?..." she said with a silly lilt to her tone, looking up at him with beaming, pretty eyes. It hurt him so greatly to see how much she had begun to adore him, for he knew what he needed to do. For her own good.

  "...Perhaps," he said, after a long moment of tense silence. "We... we should return to the estate together, I believe."

  "We should," she said with a joyous little giggle, collecting her messy riding clothes. He watched her, so much want in his eyes.

  He didn't want to break her heart... but he knew she would be better for it. He didn't deserve her love.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "I've not been to this part of the estate in so long!" Nadia exclaimed as Shadow galloped lazily through the long fields of tall, swaying grasses. "Well... save for the brief few moments of Shadow dashing through it this afternoon," she chuckled. Her eyes bright and her expression full, she felt a contentedness in her heart she hadn't felt... perhaps in her entire life. This, she believed, must be what love feels like; this fullness pressing the inside of your chest, begging to be let out, and she wanted so dearly to simply scale the tallest rolling hill in the Emerys estate and let out a great cry that she had fallen deeply for someone so special, so different than the rest.

  Shadow trotted along, whinnying happily as the clouds broke and the sun began to shine, just as night began to fall; a beautiful sunset soaked the sky, beams of brilliant orange and pinks cresting through deep-black clouds. Her heart filled with life and she looked to her lover's face, wanting to see if he was enjoying the sight on the horizon as deeply as she.

  Instead, she found an expression she could only charitably described as... very troubled. She had noticed it in the cabin, though she wanted to say nothing; she had noticed it as muddy Pierre pulled himself out of the rain, as they began to trot through the forest. Her life had been turned upside-down, and in a wonderful way, by the man trotting along at her side, but he seemed only distressed at what had happened between them.

  "Don't you love rainstorms, Marshall? They seem to be just about as deep and dark and gloomy as you are," she teased in a childish little tone, trotting up alongside him, again showing off just how skilled a rider she was compared to him. While these jokes and his own failure at matters equestrian had brought them smiles of joy and laughter only hours ago, since their moments spent together in the cabin something profound had changed about the man she had come to appreciate so deeply. She expected one of his deadpan, chuckle-worth responses to her little taunt, but she got nothing; he appeared utterly lost in his own thoughts, and when she drew too close for him to ignore her any longer, he startled from whatever dark reverie had cloaked his mind.

  "Gloomy? I suppose," he said half-heartedly, giving a forced smile.

  "Are you... quite alright, Marshall? Has the rain storm or... some other manner, of happening, put you off of our conversation?" Nadia asked with worry, fearing she had perhaps not been what he had hoped in their intimate moments together, her own insecurities playing deep at the creases of her face.

  "I'm quite alright, Lady Havenshire," he responded, dour. Lady Havenshire? She didn't enjoy hearing him call her that, no. She wanted to hear Nadia, the same way he had crooned it as they lay together, cloaked in need for one another.

  "Are you worried my father will be cross with you, Marshall?" she whispered to him. He trotted along on lazy old Pierre, sighing and shaking his head.

  "I've no worries about your father, no. He seemed quite agreeable to any... arrangements, being made between us," he spoke obliquely. Arrangements? What manner of trouble had befallen the duke to speak in such a manner?

  "What manner of arrangements did you have in mind?" Lady Havenshire prodded at him as Shadow paced ahead.

  "...We'll discuss it another time perhaps, m'lady," Marshall insisted. Silence fell; it remained with them as they paced back across the moors, through the grasslands, making the trip back to the stables. The entire trip, made in silence, and the doubts began to return to Nadia's mind. She had been so sure, in those loving and lusting moments together in the cabin, that she had finally found something special, but she began to fear for herself. She remembered Ms. Mulwray's urgings in her youth - men are animals, who will take from you what they wish, and you'll never know that they've selfishly availed themselves to you until it's too late.

  Nadia thought and thought on it, with only the occasional horse-clops and whinnies to accompany her worried introspection.

  When they arrived at the stable they remained silent; she had begun to wonder if these same doubts had been what had driven Lord Beckham to silence. Monsieur Therriault emerged from the stables with a yawn, welcoming the pair back with a tired grin.

  "You must've 'ad quite a long day, what with the storm!" he proclaimed with a devious grin. Lady Havenshire gave him a sideways glance and a nervous smile; Lord Beckham simply dismounted poor Pierre, who laid immediately in the dirt, much to Monsieur Therriault's chagrin. "Lazy creature!" he exclaimed.

  "We found an old cabin out in the wood and took refuge and... talked," Lady Havenshire commented, her words empty and distant.

  "Ah, talked, eh?" the horse-keeper said. Lady Havenshire looked back and noticed that the duke had already left and begun to scale the path back to the manor; she hurried along behind him without another word, only hearing Monsieur Therriault berating Pierre with a string of French expletives.

  "M'lord! I... I had wondered, how you intended to handle the conversation, with my father," Lady Havenshire said breathlessly, "about quite... what we had been doing, during the rainstorm? I had not thought on it, until the stable-keeper just asked," Lady Havenshire tried to pry more jokes, or conversation, or anything at all from Lord Beckham, who strode unfettered towards the manor.

  "Your answer seemed to convince Monsieur Therriault just fine," he answered nonplussed, before returning to silence.

  "Are you certain everything is fine? You don't seem to be fine," Lady Havenshire insisted, her worry beginning to transform into ire. What business had he to treat her so cross after the afternoon they'd had together? She began to fear she had failed him in some way, as they crossed through the garden, the doors to the manor opening wide. Lord Havenshire sat on the couch, as if he had spent the whole afternoon waiting anxious for the pair to return.

  "Ah! Lord Beckham, Nadia, it's a pleasure to have you back," he announced, in a manner transparent enough that she could tell it had been rehearsed. Defeated and tired, Nadia began to feel like an actress, dragged through a disastrous production by some manner of trickery. With a bit of confused venom she glanced at Lord Beckham, who stood still in the doorway, watching her father; never looking into her eyes.

  "Father, is Mary about?" Lady Havenshire asked.

  "Here, m'lady," came a loud pronouncement from a young maidservant with bushy blonde hair, emerging from the shadows of rear of the foyer. "Have you need of something, miss?"

  "Will you see me back to my bedchamber, please? I'm quite ready to retire after the day I've had," she announced loudly, looking back expectantly at Lord Beckham. She hoped to see something - anything, expressed in his eyes. Instead, he simply stood silent; unmoved. She sighed.

  "Certainly, m'lady," Mary exclaimed, bumbling nervously towards the stairs. Lady Havenshire follows, each of her footsteps echoing, daggered,
through the hallway. She looked back once more - longingly, wantingly - and caught sight of Lord Beckham again, hoping to see anything. Please, she thought; please, just say something. Just say anything, Marshall. I thought I loved you... I want to love you.

  He said nothing.

  With a flourish and a humph Lady Havenshire stormed down the hall, Mary rushing along behind her. The young maidservant had a thousand questions, no doubt begging for tidbits of gossip to share with the rest of the house staff once Ms. Mulwray retired for the evening.

  "M-m'lady! W-was that the man who—" Mary hurried along behind Nadia, nearly out of breath with how quickly Nadia fled the foyer. "The man who's interested in courting you? Lord Beckham?"

  "You know his name, do you? Quite good ears the girls down in the maidservants' chambers have, don't they?" Nadia bit back quickly.

  "He's—he's so handsome! I've never seen a noble with a face, or features, like that, not any around here, at least," Mary commented. "Do you think he's handsome, m'lady? I think he'd be quite the envy of any girl down in the servant quarters."

  "Yes, he's far nicer to look upon than the normal sort of buck-teeth, cheap suit-wearing, wormish men one tends to find among the manors and dinner banquets around these parts," Nadia sighed. The serving girl giggled, certainly loving the titillation of learning something so scandalous about the madam of the house.

  "Your father, when I was a little girl, he was the most handsome noble I had ever seen, but I think Lord Beckham is even more handsome," Mary chattered. They rounded a corner and Lady Havenshire pulled open the door to her bedchamber with a grunt, flowing into the room angrily, landing in a fluid, quick motion onto her bed, staring at the ceiling with a disaffected sigh. Mary entered after her, quickly pulling the door shut, hoping excitedly for a gossip session with Lady Havenshire. Instead, Nadia quickly and quite bluntly asked her own question.

  "Mary, pardon the particularly personal query, but," Nadia said rather nonchalantly, "have you ever been intimate with a man before?" Mary giggled loudly, her cheeks blossoming in a bright burst of cherry-red embarrassment.