A Duke but No Gentleman (25 page)

“It is a travesty to mar the beauty and perfection of your nose.” In one fluid move, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her body against his as they stood.

“It was not even a genuine question.” Imogene huffed.

“Everything about you is a subject that I happen to take very seriously. Even your imaginary freckles.” Tristan leaned down and placed a small kiss on her nose. “You are important to me.”

“I am aware of your feelings, Your Grace,” she said, wishing he looked less somber when he gazed into her eyes.

The corners of his mouth lifted at her formality. His blue-gray eyes twinkled with mischief. “Not all of them. If you did, you would be rushing into the house.” He sighed as he savored the feel of her body. “I have missed holding you in my arms.”

“I feel the same.” Imogene breathed in his warm scent and leaned into him. She had deliberately kept Tristan at a distance and they had both been hurt by it. “I needed some time.”

“I know, my darling.” His hands slid up and down her back, his hand dipping and cupping her backside. “Everything happened so quickly between us, and then Norgrave … I understand.”

“I do not blame you.”

“Of course you don't,” he replied, unable to conceal the shadow of guilt from his expression. “You are generous, and see the good in everyone you meet. You probably saw the decency in Norgrave, even though he does an admirable job of burying it.”

Tristan's remark struck with uncanny accuracy. She gasped, and turned away.

“Imogene.” He touched her on the shoulder. “Forgive me. It was a thoughtless observation. In my defense, my tongue doesn't always consult my brain.”

She had hurt him, too, so it was easy to forgive him. “You were not wrong. About your friend.”

“My former friend,” he corrected.

“Regardless, I believe you are correct.” Imogene missed his warmth. She edged closer to him. “Norgrave must have a sliver of compassion in him, otherwise I doubt you would have been his friend for so many years.”

Tristan brushed a kiss against her lips. He retreated before she could react. “See? Generous. Norgrave does not deserve your forgiveness.”

“He does not have it,” she countered sharply. “I may never grant it, but I doubt he wants it.”

Tristan had chosen her, and it was a betrayal that the marquess would never forgive.

“I assume the dragon has mentioned my aunt and uncle's upcoming ball,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. He refused to allow her to brood over the past.

On separate occasions, she had been approached by her mother and father about the ball. Verity had already selected the dress she planned to wear to the ball. “Next Wednesday, I believe?”

“The guests will be family and close friends. The duke mentioned your mother has ordered a dress for you since it's a special occasion.”

“Tristan,” she said, glaring at him because he was doing what he did best—pressing her to get his way. “I have not decided if I will attend.”

“If you cry off, it will be awfully humiliating for me when our family announces our betrothal. I do not know if I will be able to recover.”

“You think you are so clever,” Imogene muttered.

“Not particularly. If I was so intelligent, you would already be my duchess.”

She rolled her eyes. The man was persistent. “So our courtship has come to an end?”

“I have had your family's blessing for weeks, Imogene.” His blue-gray eyes darkened as concern furrowed his brow. “Unless you have reconsidered. Perhaps you do blame me—”

“No,” she said firmly. “I do not recall most of what I said to you the night you arrived at the house. My head was muddled, but I have had time to discern the truth from the lies that I was told.”

“Excellent, then we can proceed as planned and announce our intentions to marry the night of the ball.”

“Why?”

Tristan grimaced, plainly frustrated by her reluctance. “Love, my lady. Is that not reason enough?”

“Sometimes,” she conceded. “I just…”

“Talk to me. You have doubts that I love you?”

Imogene shook her head. “Are you marrying me because of Norgrave?” she blurted out, relieved that she finally had the courage to ask the question that had been troubling her for weeks.

He stepped back as if she had pushed him. “What has brought this on?”

Imogene could see that she had angered him. If his answer was not so important to her, she would have let the matter drop. “Do you not see? You have been protecting your friend, cleaning up his messes for so long that you do not realize it. If you are feeling guilty about not protecting me, and have proposed marriage as some sort of misguided penance, then I must refuse. I am not ruined. If there is a scandal, my family and I will weather it. You told me that I was strong. I doubted you the night you told me, but I have come to see that you are right. I do not require a noble sacrifice from you.”

“I do not believe it!” Tristan muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “Your head is still muddled if you think I would marry out of guilt or to rectify a wrong. When I found you huddled on the floor in my mother's bedchamber, I stopped denying my feelings for you because I realized I could have lost you. If marriage is a sacrifice of my freedom, then I gladly surrender it. I love you, Imogene. I want to build a life with you. Perhaps you do not feel the same about me?”

Tristan inclined his head. “Forgive me for intruding.”

“You are leaving?” Imogene trailed after him. She did not want to part from him in anger.

He halted, but did not turn around. “For now,” he said curtly. “You have been so concerned about my feelings that you have not contemplated your own.”

“I do not have to—I love you, Tristan.”

He sighed. “I have neglected my duties so you will not see me until my aunt and uncle's ball.”

“Are you punishing me?”

Tristan pivoted and marched up to her. “No, I am giving you time to miss me.”

He grabbed her by the upper arms and pulled her forcefully to him, his mouth muffling her exclamation. His kiss was unlike the chaste kisses she had grown accustomed to the past fortnight. It was rough, carnal, and her blood heated as he kissed her to vent his anger. If he had tossed her over his shoulder and carried her upstairs to her bedchamber, Imogene would have gone willingly.

This was the duke she had fallen in love with.

“Tristan,” she said, swaying slightly when he ended the kiss.

“I will settle for nothing less than marriage, Imogene,” he said, letting his arms fall to his sides as he stepped away from her. “You know I am not a patient man. But I am trying … for you.”

*   *   *

At dinner, her mother accused her of sulking. Imogene could not deny the charge so she delicately shrugged and continued to push the food around on her plate. Her exchange with Tristan was a lead weight on her heart. She had unintentionally hurt him. Her duke was offering her everything she had secretly wished for, but a part of her seemed incapable of trusting her good fortune.

When her melancholy increased as nightfall descended, Imogene kissed her mother and announced that she was retiring early. However, sleep was elusive. Lying on the bed, she refused to think of Norgrave, but she could not banish the night from her thoughts. He had been rough, but he had behaved as if he was her lover rather than her attacker.

“Blackbern will never marry you, Imogene,” the marquess taunted. “You have betrayed the man whom you claim you love, and you will continue to do so.”

“You are the one who betrayed him, not I,” she cried.

Norgrave did not react to her words. “You chose the wrong man,” he said, sounding disappointed in her. “However, I am willing to forgive you.”

She flinched when he tried to stroke her cheek.

“Fight me if you must. Eventually, you will come to accept the truth.”

Afraid to provoke him further, Imogene bit down on her tongue to keep from speaking.

The marquess's lips twisted into a mocking smile. “Even if Blackbern deigns to touch you again, it will be my face you will see when you close your eyes. My hands on your breasts … my mouth between your thighs giving you pleasure.”

Imogene pulled the sheet higher as she shuddered. Norgrave had been wrong about Tristan, but he had been correct about one thing. She thought of him often. It angered and confused her, leaving her to wonder if she would truly be free of his torment.

She rolled over onto her side at the soft knock at the door.

Someone opened the door and peered in.

“Imogene, are you awake?” her sister asked.

“Yes.” She sat up on the mattress. “Is something wrong?”

“I came to ask you the same question.” Verity entered the chamber. She placed the branch of candles she was holding on the table near the bed. “You seemed distracted at dinner this evening. Did you and Blackbern quarrel this afternoon?”

“Why do you ask?”

Verity shrugged. Not waiting for an invitation, she sat down on the bed. “He has made a habit of lingering in the garden with you, but today he departed with barely a word to anyone. Mama noted that your duke appeared to be upset.”

“I thought Mama was ignoring Blackbern?” Imogene asked, deliberately using his title in front of her sister. She had done her best to shelter Verity from the more scandalous details of her relationship with the duke, and Norgrave's attack. Her mother and father had also agreed with her decision.

Verity leaned back until her head rested on the pillow. “The duke is wearing her down. The last time he called her dragon, I swear, she smiled when his back was turned.”

“He once told me that he would win our mother over,” Imogene admitted. “At the time, it seemed like an impossible task, but I should not have doubted him. One would have to be dead not to fall for his flattery.”

“Including you?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “Including me.”

“So does this mean you will be marrying the duke?” Before Imogene could ask Verity why she had come to this conclusion, her sister went on to explain. “A few days ago, I overheard Papa tell someone that he expected that you and Blackbern would be posting banns soon. And this afternoon, I came across Mama and the housekeeper while they discussed the recent entries in the kitchen ledger. Mama said that the next few orders would be higher than usual, on account that you and—”

Imogene rolled over and tugged the end of her sister's braid. “Good grief, you little sneak! How many times do I have to tell you that it is rude to listen at doors? One of these days, you are going to overhear something that you will truly regret.”

“How else am I supposed to find out what is going on in this house?” Verity demanded. “No one tells me anything. And before you deny it, I know all of you are keeping something from me.”

She didn't evade her sister's intent gaze. In the candlelight, her sister looked older. While Imogene had been distracted with her own concerns, Verity had been maturing into a young lady. “Why do you believe everyone is keeping secrets? Did you overhear something not meant for your curious ears?”

“What about the night Mama and Papa were summoned to the Ludsthorpes' town house?”

Imogene rolled onto her back and covered her eyes with her forearm. She resisted the urge to groan in frustration. Of course, it would have been too much to hope that her sister had been blissfully unaware of that horrible night.

“What about it? You are aware that I had fallen ill, and Blackbern was worried. He brought me to his aunt's house, and Mama and Papa were summoned. The physician thought it was prudent that I stay in bed for a few days. You know all of this,” she said, feeling exasperated and annoyed that her sister wanted answers that she was reluctant to give.

“Mama was so upset. She and Papa argued.”

Her eyes widened with alarm. “What did you overhear?”

“Nothing. They were speaking too softly, but I could tell they were talking about you.” Verity bit her lip as if she was stalling. “Maybe Blackbern.”

Relief washed over Imogene. Although her sister was suspicious, she had not stumbled across the true reasons that had brought her to Lady Ludsthorpe's door. “Verity, naturally, Mama and Papa were concerned. I had slipped out of the house to meet the duke and I fell ill in his company. Needless to say, my actions and Blackbern's part in this have forced him to formally declare his intentions to our family.”

While there were certain omissions she wished to take to her grave, she had not lied to her sister.

“What about Lord Norgrave?”

Imogene started at the marquess's name. “What of him?” she warily asked.

Her sister shrugged. “He appeared to be quite earnest in his courtship of you. Since he is Blackbern's closest friend, he must be disappointed that he did not win your affections.”

Imogene stared off into the darkness, her mind drifting to the last time she saw him. The marquess's light blue eyes seemed to glow with determination and triumph as he held her down. She ruthlessly banished the dreadful memory from her thoughts.

“I have no inclination to inquire after Lord Norgrave's feelings. However, you may be correct. He and Blackbern have had some sort of falling-out, and the gentlemen have ended their friendship.”

“They fought over you?” Verity asked, excited over the romantic prospect that the two men had fought for Imogene's hand.

“I am not privy to the details,” she hedged. “And I would consider it a great favor if you do not pester the duke about it. The marquess was once loved as a brother, and even though they have severed all ties, I am certain Blackbern mourns the loss of his friend.”

“So they
did
fight over you.”