by Erica Ridley
He needn’t have worried. With every pulse of her heart, with every catch in her breath, her body was declaring itself his to plunder however he pleased. Already the familiar pressure was building within her.
When he broke the kiss at last, she parted her lips to protest. Before she could do so, his mouth began a series of slow, sensual kisses underneath her jaw, along the curve of her neck, down the hem of her bodice.
All thoughts of complaint vanished from her mind. When his mouth at last found her breast, a strangled gasp escaped her throat as she arched into him.
She would not think about tomorrow. Once he realized he needed to find a proper wife—or once her double life was revealed, rendering her fully unmarriageable—they would never have a moment like this again.
But for as long as she could, for as long as they both dared, she would give in to vulnerability and share as many moments of pleasure as they could. She wrapped her legs about him and pulled him close.
For tonight, at least, he was hers.
She opened her gown to him, her body, her heart. This was not the moment to hide her true feelings. This was the moment to take everything within her grasp. To offer the same to him. A chance to indulge their desire, even if they did not admit openly that it meant so much more.
He explored her with his hands, his mouth, leaving no curve unkissed, no naked skin uncaressed. She was his and he knew it. The seduction worked both ways. Her body responded as if it had been set aflame. As if joining with him was the only hope to quench this insatiable desire.
When his head disappeared between her legs, she lost all grasp of reason altogether. There was no choice but to give herself wholly to the moment, to the man whose soft hair she clutched in her fingers as he worked magic she hadn’t known existed.
Her breath still hadn’t calmed, perhaps would never calm again, when he fitted himself above her in a way that promised even greater pleasures than the one he had just shown her.
“You’re certain you want this?” he murmured against the shell of her ear.
“I’ve been certain for ages,” she confessed boldly as she angled her hips to give him better access. “The only thing I was unsure of was whether we’d have an opportunity.”
“We can have as many opportunities as you like,” he promised.
She doubted that was true, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for the glorious fullness, hot and hard and slick, joining their bodies together. A flash of pain, and then only pleasure as he gave her his body and his caresses and his kisses all at once.
He was not making love to her as if there would be a thousand other opportunities. He was holding nothing back at all, not his desire, not his heart. They were joined together in every way that mattered, body and soul, eye-to-eye, kiss to kiss, as if this moment was all they would ever have. As if there was no choice but to give everything while it was still theirs to give.
For her, there had never been a choice. Her body belonged to him.
Even if she never could.
Chapter 15
When Cole awoke, he did not reach out in search of Diana. She was not in his bed. Not yet.
She had returned home shortly after lovemaking the night before, not wishing to stay away so late as to arouse her guardian’s suspicion.
Unnecessary, since Cole fully intended to secure Thad’s permission to ask for his ward’s hand. Besides, returning an hour or two after supper still made for a far earlier night than attending any given society event.
Granted, Diana had not formally accepted Cole’s proposal. Not with words. But she had trusted him with her body. Allowed him to claim her virginity. In the eyes of society, she was ruined. There was no choice but to marry Cole.
Admittedly a less romantic outcome than the immediate and enthusiastic “Yes!” he’d been hoping for, but at this point any “yes” would do.
Whatever doubts Diana held, Cole had none whatsoever. She would be a splendid duchess. Clever, compassionate, tenacious. They would make a marvelous team. Cole could scarcely wait. Three weeks of banns would feel like a lifetime.
But first, a gentleman was required to make things official.
He dressed and broke his fast and spent the morn preparing for tonight's first parliamentary meeting for as long as he could, then set out for the Middleton household.
If Thaddeus was still asleep at half twelve, Cole would drag the man out of bed himself. There was a contract to arrange, a wedding to plan, a new life just around the corner.
When the butler answered the door, Cole greeted him with a smile. “A wonderful day to you, Shaw. Is the master at home?”
“I believe he’s expecting you, Your Grace.” Shaw led Cole not to the guest parlor, but to Middleton’s private sitting room.
The last bubbles of nervousness disappeared from Cole’s belly. This was a good sign. An excellent sign. Thaddeus had roused himself at the crack of noon in order to sign the wedding contract.
Cole would leave the question of banns or license up to Diana, but the moment the vows were spoken, he and his new bride would finally be able to—
“Why are you here?”
He spun around, heart pounding uncertainly. The voice hadn’t belonged to Thaddeus, but rather to Diana. And she had not sounded pleased to see him.
She stood just outside the doorway with a dubious expression.
His future duchess was not wearing one a fashionable gown, nor was she half-hidden beneath a dingy mobcap and a maid’s apron. She had retreated to her wallflower disguise. Her arms were folded beneath her bosom and her ice-blue eyes sparked with fire.
“Performing the next step,” he replied at once. “You value efficiency, so I doubted you’d wish for me to dawdle. How did you sleep? I missed you when—”
“Do you ever listen to me?” she burst out. “I said no.”
“Yes,” he agreed, frowning. “And then we removed our clothes and performed an act reserved for husbands and wives—”
“—or whores and dockworkers, or courtesans and lords, or spinsters and whomever they bloody well fancy.”
He blinked. “I’m actually not certain that’s how that works. At least not for respectable spinsters. Any young lady, married or not, who hopes to maintain a proper reputation—”
“When have I ever been proper?” she demanded. “Or showed any inclination to stay in the tiny box society has painted for me? Name one time I was exactly like all your proper young ladies.”
“I…”
“You don’t want me,” she said. “You want your vision, your limitations, your terms. You want a Diana-shaped marionette that will simper on cue and never risk her precious voucher to Almack’s.”
His muscles tightened. “That’s not fair.”
“To either of us,” she agreed, eyes flashing. “You have the right to marry a perfect little doll. Go find her. As long as I’m unwed, I have the opportunity to live as I please.”
“I would never—”
“You already have.” Her voice was hollow. “You still do. That’s the problem. I will not give up my principles or my battles, and you won’t accept me with them. We can’t have each other. Not like that.”
He shook his head in confusion. “But you let me…”
“I didn’t let you do anything,” she said through clenched teeth. “Last night was both of us, deciding together. If you can’t see the difference…” Her fingers shook. “It would be better if you weren’t still here when my cousin comes downstairs. Goodbye, Cole.”
She moved aside, leaving no doubt that she wished for him to leave with as much alacrity and efficiency as he’d demonstrated in his unsolicited visit.
Cole inclined his head, and did as she wished.
There was no point in arguing. This time, her unequivocal no had been more than clear. Even to a pining fool like him.
He returned to his carriage, but not to his town house. He wasn’t ready for the permanence of its unwelcome emptiness yet.
Instead, he
bid his coachman drive him to the Palace of Westminster. Parliament wouldn’t open its first session for three more hours, which would hopefully give Cole enough time to push his failed marriage proposal out of his mind and focus on the speech he was meant to give to his peers on public works and fisheries.
Tonight would determine his place for the rest of the parliamentary season.
This was his one chance to make the right impression. If he appeared knowledgeable enough, reliable enough, lordly enough, they might choose him to replace Fortescue as committee leader.
It was what he wanted. What he had been working toward. And, if he were as honest as Diana, it was a goal far easier to achieve without her.
They wouldn’t trust him with Acts of Parliament if he couldn’t make his own wife respect society’s rules. And he certainly couldn’t leap on stage blathering about an overabundance of bushels or why England should ape Napoleon’s meters. Not without becoming a laughingstock, an object of ridicule, never to be trusted again.
And yet her words still stung his ears. Have you ever listened to me?
Chapter 16
“What are you doing back here?”
Diana lifted her unfocused gaze from the floor outside her cousin’s private drawing room to find him at the other end of the short corridor.
Normally at this hour, Thad’s hair was still mussed from his pillow, his brown eyes still blurry with sleep. Today he looked as though he had been up for hours. His cheeks were ruddy as if from wind and a pair of riding gloves dangled from one hand.
More unusual, his dark eyes were not vacant and sleepy, but bright and alert and narrowing with concern. His long stride brought him to her side in seconds.
“What is it?” He pried her shoulders from the wall and led her to a leather chair in his study. “Tell me what’s happened.”
Diana tilted the back of her head against the chair and squeezed her eyes tight.
What happened had nothing to do with Thaddeus. What she intended to do—or not do—with her future affected her cousin very much.
He had taken every possible step to give her the best chance on the marriage mart. Dragged her to every possible beau monde soirée, even roped a duke into the impossible mission of marrying off his ward.
Diana had spent the past five years thwarting her cousin’s efforts. She’d been afraid if she told him the truth—that she never planned to take a husband—that her presence would no longer be welcome.
Thaddeus had agreed to be his orphaned cousin’s temporary guardian. He had not enlisted himself as permanent provider to a poor relation who chose to remain a dependent spinster on purpose.
She had accused Colehaven of not listening to her, of not recognizing her perspective nor respecting her wishes.
But she hadn’t even given her cousin the courtesy of an explanation, preferring to let him try so earnestly to give her opportunities for something she didn’t even want, rather than be brave enough to sit down and tell him the truth.
It was past time.
Diana opened her eyes. “Colehaven asked me to marry him.”
“Congratulations, cousin.” Thaddeus’s shoulders relaxed in obvious relief.
“I declined.”
There. The topic was broached. Now he would know just what kind of ward he had.
Thad’s brow furrowed. “You dislike Colehaven?”
Diana shook her head. She loved Cole. But it wasn’t enough.
“If your sights are set higher than a duke,” Thaddeus said slowly, “you should know that only leaves foreign princes and the Regent himself, who I’m afraid is already taken.”
Diana dropped her face in her hands. Her cousin was so deuced kind. She hated to shatter his good opinion of her.
She forced herself to look up anyway.
“I can’t marry him,” she said miserably. “Or anyone proper. I’m not proper, and I don’t intend to change my ways. A duchess is important amongst the ton, but I’d rather be important to everyday people. To make a real difference. I’ve been slipping out in the mornings, dressed as something I’m not, in order to—”
Diana’s halting explanation cut off at the sight of her cousin’s face.
He wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t surprised.
He was sitting there patiently, allowing her to tell her story her way, at her own pace. A shocking, scandalous confession that didn’t surprise him in the least.
“You knew?” she blurted in disbelief. “How long have you known?”
“From the beginning,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “I may not be good at chess, but I’m competent at managing my affairs. At first, that included a new ward. Then my affairs included a ward who purloined aprons from the staff quarters and slunk out the servants’ exit. I haven’t been bored for a single moment since your arrival.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. Of course the servants had seen her. She’d assumed they guarded their tongues, given her position compared to theirs. Instead, her cousin had known the entire time.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked.
“Because you didn’t,” he said simply. “Whenever you were ready to talk, you would. Until then, it was my duty to keep you safe. Since you stubbornly refused to take a maid with you on your excursions—”
“I was anonymous,” she protested. “Or trying to be.”
“I made certain never to impinge upon your subterfuges,” he assured her. “I kept to the shadows and daresay became reasonably adept at disguises of my own.”
Someday, Diana might look back on this moment and laugh. Today, she was simply bewildered.
“Why didn’t you read me the riot act?” she asked. “You could have locked me in my room, banished me to the countryside, sent me off to a convent or some sort of asylum for incorrigible, ungrateful wards—”
“Diana.” Thaddeus took her hands in his. “You’re not my ward. You’re an adult woman. Whether I agree with your choices in mobcaps and dukes, this is your home, too. For as long as you want it.”
A thick lump filled her throat, preventing any words from escaping. All she could do was give his hands an answering squeeze and blink away the sudden pricks of heat in her eyes.
“I don’t want to change you,” her cousin said softly. “I just want you to be happy.”
The right words, from the wrong man.
Diana’s shoulders crumpled. She could have the life she wanted, but not the person she wanted to share it with. And no matter how miserable she felt inside, it would have to be enough.
It was the best she was going to get.
Chapter 17
Cole crumpled up the report he’d kept rewriting for the past several hours and tossed the entirety into the fire.
Parliament wouldn’t resume until four o’clock this afternoon. Perhaps between now and then, the best use of his time would be to take himself down to the Wicked Duke and drink until he forgot about Diana.
If enough ale existed in the world to make that happen.
“Still moping?”
Cole jerked his head up in time to witness his sister shove an oversized basket into his study and slam the door without waiting for a response.
He hadn’t told her what happened with the House of Lords or with Diana, so he couldn’t imagine why Felicity suspected him to be moping.
A state difficult to maintain whilst plucking rambunctious kittens from every precarious surface in his study.
Cole leaped up from behind his desk, but it was too late.
The demons had been unleashed.
He looped his arm through the handle of the now-empty basket and began lurching about his study after a swarm of extremely agile kittens.
“I’m shipping you to Australia,” he shouted toward the other side of his closed door. “With these dratted kittens!”
“Have to catch them first,” came his sister’s laughing voice, already almost too faint to hear. She’d be harder to catch than the damn kittens.
The basket was large enoug
h to hold all six of them, but lacked a lid to keep them safely contained.
Whenever Cole did manage to scoop a tiny ball of fur from a priceless painting or a one-of-a-kind globe, the kittens immediately managed to scamper out of the basket and up his cravat, or drag their tiny claws down the sides of his breeches.
When at last he gave up and threw himself upon his settee in exhausted defeat, the kittens joyfully pounced upon his chest and made themselves at home, as if no corner of the ducal residence was quite as comfortable as the lapels of the duke himself.
He ran his fingers over their soft little spines. They purred their approval.
Cole supposed nothing in life was ever completely predictable. Expecting it to be—or trying to force a pattern that didn’t exist—was impossible. Even when life didn’t go to plan, the detour wasn’t necessarily for the worst.
Like the kittens snuggling against the dented folds of his cravat, Diana was lively and unpredictable. Unlike the kittens, he could not keep her caged for her own safety, or his peace of mind.
A wife was not a pet. Regardless of the letter of the law, he had no wish to control her. He wanted their bond to be genuine. He wanted her to want to be his duchess. But what exactly was he offering in return?
A cage. A leash. A declawing. Suppression of all the wild, beautiful things that had attracted him to her in the first place.
He’d thought she’d come around to his perspective. They had so much in common. They both knew what it was like to lose everything. To be orphaned, to start anew, to be scared, to triumph anyway. They both wanted to do everything in their power to make their world a better place.
But even if they came from similar backgrounds, even if their hopes for the future were the same, the paths they took to get there needn’t be perfect copies of each other.
After tragedy struck, he’d gained a title, a fortune, a voice in Parliament. When Diana was orphaned, she’d lost her home, had her life uprooted, her existence wholly defined by how good a wife she could be for a total stranger.
