Awakening His Duchess (14 page)

“And a husband should want his wife,” she whispered. She
took a step.

He didn’t want her, and she couldn’t allow herself to want a
man who hated her and thought she would kill him if given half a chance. Even
if he wanted her, though, she didn’t dare open her heart to him. He was too
ill, she had suffered too many losses, and she had no purpose beyond securing
Etienne’s future. And if she had betrayed some longing for the past or what
might have been...more the shame. She would be more careful in the future.

Chapter Eight

Yvette stripped off the shirt, threw it on the shard of
morning sun streaming across her bed. If she didn’t breathe she could get the
skirt buttons of Diana’s riding habit fastened, but the top was proving more
difficult. Hoping she could get the jacket on with two less layers, she yanked
off her chemise too. Her pulse galloped frantically at the delay. Already she
was late for Etienne’s riding lesson, but she hadn’t woken until the door
clicked shut when Beau left the suite. If she took any more time, she might
miss them.

“You must put on the shirt first, my lady,” objected her
maid.

“It will not fit, and I cannot waste time.” Yvette scowled
at the girl although it wasn’t her fault the riding habit was ill fitting.

If she meant to join Beau and her son, she should be
appropriately attired. So she’d borrowed the riding habit from her
predecessor’s cupboard.

Except Diana, now the Dowager Countess Arrington, was a tiny
thing and her habit miniscule. Yvette grabbed scissors and snipped off the
braces. The skirt wasn’t falling off unless she popped the buttons.

Did it have to be yellow? The stained hem spoke of why Lady
Arrington had abandoned it. Only Diana would have commissioned a habit out of a
color that would show every dirt smudge. Yvette preferred sober colors suited
to a widow. And stained hems repulsed her, but she had little choice.

Yvette just hoped she didn’t look like a big lemon. A lemon
with green and pink epaulets and frogging. She shuddered.

With the wide neck cloth of lace-trimmed linen, no one would
be able to tell that she didn’t have proper undergarments. She hoped. But that
was the least of her fears.

Etienne being thrust on the back of a horse was her main
concern. The massive beasts with their sleek muscles capable of bearing a man
on their back or killing him with a blow of a hoof terrified her. She preferred
horses buckled and strapped into traces, pulling a carriage, but if she had to,
for Etienne’s sake, she’d ride one herself.

Her maid helped tug her into the jacket. No matter how they
pulled and pushed, they couldn’t get the frogging fastened higher than her
sternum.

Groaning in dismay, Yvette grabbed the scarf. Looping the
cloth around her neck, she spread it wide, filling in the gaps and tucking it
into the sides.

Her maid shook her head. “I will find you something else.”

“This must do.” Yvette didn’t have time to fuss around
anymore.

Looping the dragging skirt over her arm, she headed toward
the door.

“Ma’am, your hair.”

Yvette groaned. “Pin quick.”

She had to get out to the stables before Beau took Etienne
off where she couldn’t find them. Besides Beau might not be entirely rational
if he was still feeling the effects of the herbs.

Even if he was completely normal this morning, reconciling
the idea of the man who had so lovingly looked upon Etienne with the man who
would put her son on a thousand pound beast who could kill with a single hoof
strike was difficult. Then again the Beau she knew from long ago took risks.

After Mazi relayed Beau’s message that she was no longer
needed, she’d spent most of the night hovering outside of Beau’s chamber while
he slept. Mazi had quietly shaken his head every time she looked in. If Beau
had suffered delusions from the herbs, neither his behavior nor speech had
shown it. She’d worried she hadn’t given him enough or that the herbs had lost
their potency, but as the dawn drew near, she realized his breathing had been
easy for hours and she was finally able to snatch a little sleep. Then she’d
overslept.

If he meant to teach their son to ride, then she would have
to learn too. She had to keep Etienne safe.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t like to look your best? Your husband
has been gone for a long time.” Her maid cast a glance toward the single
indentation in the bed pillows and lifted her eyebrows.

No. She didn’t care what she looked like, other than not
incurring the duke’s wrath for not being appropriately dressed as an English
lady.

Finally done, Yvette hurried downstairs. The footman opened
the door to the empty breakfast room, but she shook her head. “Have my son
and...his father already gone out?”

The footman answered in the affirmative. She dashed to the
door. She needed to join them before Beau put her small son on the back of a
massive beast.

The door to the library opened.

“Lady Beaumont, come here,” said the duke imperiously from
his rolling chair by the fire. “Er, Lady Arrington, I mean. We have news to discuss.”

Her shoulders tightened. She couldn’t ignore the duke, so
she halted and pivoted into the doorway. “Your grace. This must wait. I join
Etienne for this riding lesson, no?”

She’d hoped the mention of it would prompt him to call his
son back and censure this foolishness.

“Come here.” He seemed to have absolutely no reaction to
Etienne’s being taught to ride. None.

“I thought you might object.” She clenched her fingers
tighter in her dragging skirts. He had been in agreement with her, that it was
too dangerous and unnecessary.

Thinking about defying the duke, she glanced to the front
door, but she’d learned to follow the dictates of a head of household. Although
she couldn’t remember ever wanting to defy the duke before now.

The duke looked up as if wondering why she hesitated.

Blowing out a breath of air she marched into the library,
determined not to stay one minute more than necessary. “Soon I go.”

The duke’s brows lifted as if startled by her defiance. He
paused a minute while her insides churned. She half turned toward the door.

“Beau will take care of his son.”

“But his safety...”

The duke’s gaze pinned her. “There will be other boys, won’t
there?”

She narrowed her eyes. No matter what the duke expected of
her, she wouldn’t risk Etienne. He wasn’t replaceable to her. “I should not
count on it.”

“You will do everything you can to ensure more heirs.”

The duke was ordering her to have relations with Beau.

Her cheeks heated as her fingers curled into the skirts of
her borrowed habit. “This may be how it is done in England, but I will not beg
a man to come to my bed.”

The duke’s lips twitched. “I shouldn’t think you would have
to beg, my dear girl. Just be agreeable. He shall find his way into your bed
soon enough.” His eyes raked over her, making her want to crawl into a hole.

Instead she held her shoulders back and nudged up her chin,
hoping he wasn’t noticing her lack of undergarments.

“After all, during breakfast he made no objection to your
being housed in his suite,” added the duke in a lower voice. “He is no stranger
to voicing his dissent to me.”

Her spine stiffened as if a ramrod had been jammed down it.
Was Beau intending to consummate their marriage again? If so why would he
refuse her nursing? Or was his father reading too much into it? “If that is
all...”

“No. Sit down. I have news which I quite forgot in
yesterday’s excitement.”

She sighed and crossed the room to stand by the fire but
didn’t sit. She glanced toward a window looking for a sign of Beau and Etienne.

The duke wheeled his Bath chair to his desk and brought a
travel-stained letter back with him. “I have finally located the French bank
your...Henri Petit did business with. They have sent an emissary to straighten
things out, but it is a pity he will waste the trip. I shall have to send him
back when he arrives.”

She suddenly felt heavy and didn’t want any more shocking
news, good or bad. Sinking down to a sofa she asked, “Is there no money?”

“You have no right to it. You were never married to Mr. Petit
since Beau was alive the whole time.”

But she had been married. She’d lived in his home, shared
his bed, borne his—
Mon Dieu,
she hadn’t had a minute to think about how
Beau’s return turned everything on its head. She put a shaking hand to her
mouth.

Beau’s return from the dead meant she had been an adulterer.
Her mind refused to accept that. “But no one else has a right.”

“Apparently another has made a claim,” said the duke.

“Who?” A French relative of Henri?” She knew little of his
family and had been pregnant and unable to travel when he visited France.

“The letter does not say.” The duke held out the pages.

But she shook her head, satisfied that he had told her all
he knew.

“What will I do?” She stared into the fireplace and the
flames that seemed to taunt her with no answer. Her thoughts spun. Her marriage
to Beau was the one in doubt. Her marriage to Henri was the only one the
Catholic Church and the French would recognize. No, she was Henri’s widow and
with his money she could at least not fear Beau’s casting her out and leaving
her destitute as soon as his father died.

“You cannot want for anything. You do not even spend the
money I allot for your clothes and sundries now,” the duke said gently. “It
cannot matter that you are not getting your hus—Mr. Petit’s money.”

“Beau has told me he will have me removed from the house as
soon as you are gone. I only hoped to have the means of independence.”

The duke colored and she regretted that she had not thought
before speaking. “He will do right by you and give me more grandsons,” said the
duke. “Or I will wring his neck.”

Yvette bit back the reminder that Beau had been the one son
the duke hadn’t been able to control. Otherwise Beau never would have married
her—if he had married her. And he hadn’t agreed to acknowledge her or Etienne.
Besides, after the duke was dead he wouldn’t be doing any neck wringing.

Perhaps last night had changed Beau’s mind, but it hadn’t
changed hers. She was content being a widow with no demands, no expectation of
bearing more children, no pain. She certainly wouldn’t humiliate herself by
trying to force herself on a man who hated her.

He might have turned to her when he was on the verge of
death, but he didn’t trust her, didn’t want her around when he could breathe
again, certainly he didn’t want her as his wife.

She had touched him enough to reassure herself he was alive,
living, breathing, but his heart was dead to her. After he left Etienne’s room
in the wee hours of the morning, he’d ignored her and had Mazi tell her she was
no longer needed.

He surely couldn’t know that she had spent far more time
rubbing the camphor into his chest than was necessary. She didn’t know what
madness had possessed her. A furious heat stole over her face.

“And you, my girl, will do your duty as my son’s wife. You
will make no protest to this emissary but tell him you were mistaken in the
matter.”

Yvette lifted her chin, but the words were like mud in her
mouth. “And if Beau chooses not to acknowledge me?”

“He knows his duty.”

Only the duke’s reassurance didn’t make her feel any better.
Did she want to be nothing more than the wife of a man who didn’t want her,
didn’t trust her, didn’t love her? Was the best she could achieve his
attentions out of a sense of
duty?

The idea of Beau and her having relations just to make a
child was the difference between a tropical swim in the ocean or a winter’s
plunge through a pond’s ice. His wintery eyes would destroy the memories she
had of their one night together. A night that seemed magical in her mind. And
the memory of it sustained her through many dark times. She didn’t want to
taint it.

She refused to be a wife out of duty again. She’d done it
once with Henri, and while she never doubted his affection for her, it had
never been enough. She wasn’t doing it again.

 
*~*~*

Beau had asked for the slowest, tiredest nag to be saddled.
Etienne’s hand in his seemed so small, hardly capable of handling the reins
with the necessary firmness. Yvette’s concerns aside, it didn’t make sense to
put the boy on a horse that was too spirited. He only hoped that she wouldn’t
interfere in this early morning lesson, but she had been fast asleep when he
left the suite.

He wasn’t ready to face her yet. He hated that she’d seen
him at his weakest last night. Then she’d given him some of the same herbs the
bokor had given him. He thought he’d truly despise her for that, but her
mixture was far less potent and had eased his breathing. She’d probably saved
his life.

He’d been aware of her hovering just beyond the archway of
his bedchamber throughout the remainder of the night. Yet he didn’t know what
to make of her.

She’d seemed to indicate that she’d be willing to be a wife
in all ways. Not that he wanted her. She was still the heartless bitch who’d
had him turned into a half-crippled slave, but he’d been glad of her presence
when he passed out. He didn’t know if he would have revived enough on his own
to ring for help.

The groom led Daisy out onto the cobbled courtyard, shaking
him from his musings with a wave of nostalgia. Her head lurched with each
stride as if the stones hurt her feet.

He’d been forced to ride Daisy until his tenth birthday when
he’d finally been allowed to graduate to a hunter. She must be awful long in the
tooth, but now he was glad of the placid, plodding mare though she’d frustrated
him to no end when he was a child. “Hello, old girl.”