Chance the Winds of Fortune (6 page)

The duke's arms tightened around his duchess's small waist. “Not at all, my dear, for I have made it my life's work to please you, and I accept nothing less than your undying love and devotion,” he warned, his mouth covering hers for a lingering moment. “Especially as you have mine. And as you well know, we Dominicks are a stubborn breed.”

Sabrina stared up at him, all her love for him openly revealed in the dark depths of her violet eyes, eyes that had captivated the duke since he'd first glanced into them. With a flash of sapphire and ruby rings, the duchess ran a gentle finger along the scar that etched its way from his left cheek to the corner of his mouth. “My only love, my heart,” she said simply.

Lucien pressed his lips to her soft palm before tucking her arm within the crook of his elbow. “Now, what were you daydreaming about? Perchance 'twas me, and your wish has been granted?”

Sabrina smiled indulgently. “You Dominick males are also very vain; however, you are partly correct. I was thinking how amazing it is that Rhea Claire could actually be seventeen. I was watching her come across the gardens with Francis and Robin, and I was feeling very proud of our children.”

“What were they up to?” the duke demanded, glancing out of the window. But the garden below was empty.

The duchess raised a delicate eyebrow at his choice of words and his doubting tone of voice. “You sound suspicious of something, my dear, but you really needn't be,” she told him confidently, feeling little cause for concern. “I shall set your mind at rest, for all they were doing was laughing. Now what else should they be doing but enjoying themselves on a warm afternoon?” the duchess asked as she made herself comfortable on her favorite rose-colored silk sofa, which had been positioned near the fireplace for maximum warmth. The early morning fire had long since burned itself out, and the duchess's embroidery lay long-forgotten on the carpet.

“Laughing? That is precisely why I am worried. And I suppose Robin was laughing harder than the others?” the duke asked with a gleam in his sherry-colored eyes that boded ill for the duchess's young son.

“And what is wrong with that?” she demanded with a laugh of her own. “And why have you singled out Robin for your displeasure?”

“I have singled him out, my love, because he should be soundly spanked.”

“Whatever for?” the duchess asked, a little less confidently this time, for she knew only too well what sort of mischief her son could get up to.

“For causing Rendale the dunking of his life,” the duke informed her as he sat down beside her. “That damned pony of Robin's knocked the earl into the lily pond,” he continued, waiting patiently for her laughter to stop before he continued. “I would imagine
that
is what your three children were just laughing about. Although I should think that Robin would find the situation less amusing since he has been ordered to my study.”

“Don't be too hard on him, Lucien,” Sabrina said softly, her eyes entreating on behalf of her precipitate son while her slender fingers caressed Lucien's hand.

“Have I ever denied you anything, Rina?” the duke responded with a tolerant smile, his eyes lingering on her slightly parted lips.

“Yes, many times,” the duchess returned with a low laugh. “You can be a terrible tyrant at times, and I quite despair of coaxing a smile out of you.”

“Liar,” the duke whispered, a tantalizing smile curving his lips. “I shudder to think what my life would have been like if you had not stormed into it that night,” he speculated, smoothing a soft, unpowdered black curl from her temple. He pressed his lips against her hair, approving of her refusal to bow to convention and society by hiding the beauty of her hair under layers of white powder. “Do you remember that night, my sweet?”

“Remember?” the duchess questioned with an impish grin identical to that of young Robin's. “How could I forget? You nearly killed me!”

“Ah, but I didn't, much to my delight and eternal thankfulness. Although now that I am reminded,” he added with a mocking glance, “you certainly led me one fine chase. And here you sit now, smugly casting aspersions on my swordsmanship. Really, my dear, you do me a grave injustice.”

The duchess smiled provocatively, the slight dimple in her cheek entrancing the duke as much today as it had the first time it had peeped out at him. She was more beautiful today, if that were indeed possible, than she had been when he'd made her his duchess. With Sabrina by his side he had found the love and happiness he had always been searching for, and until his fateful meeting with this black-haired, violet-eyed hellion, that elusive bird had always flown free of his grasp. But once he had captured her, he vowed he would never let her fly free, for Sabrina was his life. It was as simple as that.

His duchess blushed slightly under the warmth of his gaze, but she did not glance away and continued to meet the message of love in his eyes as she touched his mouth with hers. And it was upon this intimate scene that the door was opened to admit a liveried footman.

“Lady Wrainton, Your Grace,” he said in stentorian tones, and stepped aside for an attractive young woman who, at the sight of the closely positioned couple on the sofa, nearly stumbled as she tried to halt her progress into the room.

“My dear Sarah, do come in,” the duchess said, beckoning and rising to greet their guest.

“Please, I do not wish to intrude, Your Grace,” Lady Wrainton said nervously, quite in awe of the duchess, even though she was her sister-in-law. “I-I had not realized His Grace was in here,” she added, completely in awe of the duke also, whose scarred cheek gave him a sinister look that left her knees shaking. He was an undeniably handsome man, and the years had certainly been kind to him, for there was no excess weight to slow him down or to strain against the buttons of his waistcoat. Tall and lean, his face marred only by the scar, he exuded a sensuality that even she, a happily married wife and soon-to-be mother, could feel, and she wondered what he must have been like twenty years earlier when he'd been in his early to mid-thirties. Despite his obvious happiness and contentment in his marriage, his face was still stamped by a certain cynical hardness, or perhaps it was merely the scar that created such an impression. But still, Sarah wondered how the duchess had managed to handle such a man all of these years.

But as Sarah stared at the duchess, she realized that Her Grace's beauty alone could hold any man spellbound. It was difficult to believe that she could possibly be the mother of five children, for her figure was that of a young girl's, her tiny waist rivaling any that Sarah had seen on acclaimed London beauties. The passage of time had enhanced the beauty of the Duchess of Camareigh, not stolen it away, for there was a glowing warmth and happiness from within that was reflected on her face. And that was something that no artificial beauty aid could capture.

Sarah remembered herself in time and started to curtsy, only to find herself being raised gently but firmly by the duchess.

“Now you listen to me, Sarah,” she warned her with a glint in her violet eyes. “I will not tolerate any subservience from you. You are the wife of my beloved Richard, and as sisters-in-law, we are family. I happen to be Sabrina to my family. Do I make myself clear?” she added, sounding more like the imperious duchess than ever.

“You'd be wise to do as she says, Sarah,” the duke commented lazily. “I learned years ago not to cross her.”

“You circumvent me, that is all. Don't think I am not wise to your methods, my dear,” the duchess responded with an arch look at her husband, who was smiling complacently.

Sarah looked from one to the other of them, amazed at their teasing words, and suddenly she knew she would be blessed if she had only half as good a marriage as the duke's and duchess's.

“Now please do sit down,” the duchess ordered with a smile that robbed her words of any sting. “I do not intend to be the cause of your losing Richard's heir. How are you feeling? Not nauseous, I hope? Good! Now, would you care for a cup of tea?” the duchess politely inquired. But her casual reference to so private a female condition had caused Sarah to blush with painful embarrassment when she happened to catch the duke's eye.

“Oh, don't mind Lucien,” the duchess told her, correctly interpreting her sister-in-law's blushes, “he's played the expectant father far too many times not to understand what we go through. In fact,” the duchess continued, her eyes exchanging a special, shared memory with the duke, “Lucien helped to deliver Francis, so he knows better than most men what childbearing is all about. I was a bit headstrong in my youth,” she explained, sending the duke a quelling glance when he said something beneath his breath at her offhand remark. “I was not expecting Francis for another month, or so I'd thought. I had been visiting my sister, when on the journey home, in the middle of a thunderstorm, no less,” the duchess said, her eyes now sparkling with the memory, “Francis joined us. I'm not sure who was more surprised,” she said with an engaging laugh, “Lucien, Francis, me, or the coachman when he heard Francis's lusty cry. I'm afraid poor Richard thought I was going to die.”

Sarah's mouth dropped open. “Richard was there?” she asked in amazement, realizing there was far more to her rather intellectual husband than she had ever imagined. “I knew that he had lived with you here at Camareigh after your marriage, and that your parents are both dead,” Sarah said. She knew now that she had never before quite suspected the deep bond between Richard and his sister, as well as the bond between Richard and the duke.

“Our mother died a few days after Richard was born, and we were raised for many years in Scotland, by our mother's father. Our own father wanted nothing to do with us. When Grandfather died,” the duchess explained, “we came to England and lived at Verrick House, where, oddly enough, we had all been born. When I married Lucien, Richard came with me. I'm not sure Lucien had counted on that,” the duchess commented with a smile that only her husband understood.

“I would have had it no other way, for indeed,” the duke said conversationally, “'twas Richard's actions that instigated a reconciliation between us. We have had our differences in the past, Sarah. And there was a time, long, long ago, when I thought I had lost Sabrina,” the duke confided. “These Verricks are independent and stubborn people, Sarah. In fact, they are a bit eccentric, but I've never once regretted marrying into the family,” he told her.

The duke's casual use of her name warmed Sarah and began to make her feel accepted at Camareigh. She knew this was important if she was to make a success of her marriage, for Camareigh had been Richard's home, and he worshipped the duke and duchess. She had wanted so very badly to be accepted by his family, and indeed, had desperately feared being rejected by them. For she was only the daughter of an impecunious army officer, who had managed, despite himself, to die bravely in battle, and as a last, dying gesture, had left his only child a ward of his commanding officer, General Sir Terence Fletcher, brother-in-law to the Duchess of Camareigh.

It had been while living at Green Willows, the country estate of Sir Terence and Lady Mary, that Sarah Pargeter had met Richard Verrick, Marquis of Wrainton and younger brother of Lady Mary and the duchess. With his thick red hair, he resembled Lady Mary rather than the dark-haired duchess, and his quiet demeanor and gold-rimmed spectacles made the impression seem well founded—at least until Richard Verrick was moved by amusement, anger, or passion. Then he resembled the duchess, his blue eyes flashing a fire and spirit equal to his sister's.

Sarah glanced around the very elegant private drawing room of the Dominick family, and she could not help but compare the fine, plaster ceiling with its birds in flight and scrolled corners, the blue and gold flock wallpaper and ornately framed pictures, the silk-covered sofas and chairs, crystal chandeliers, and damask curtains, to the shabby rooms she had lived in while traveling the Continent with her father. Their hand-to-mouth existence fluctuated with his wins and losses in card games in every gaming hall, from Vienna to London to Paris. She had never thought to find herself having tea with a duke and duchess, and in a room such as this; nor had she thought that one day she herself would be a marchioness.

Long ago, she had given up hope of making a successful marriage, for she knew she was no raving beauty, with her ordinary brown hair and brown eyes. And all she'd had as a dowry were her father's staggering debts—his legacy to her upon his death. Sarah sighed, for her father may not have been a good father by accepted standards, but he had loved her, that she knew, and he had tried to do his best for her. He could rest easy, she thought, for she had married well, far better, in fact, than either of them had ever hoped for, and also, she had married for love.

“And where is Richard?” the duchess asked now as she pulled the bell for the butler. “He did promise to be here for tea. No,” she commanded suddenly, holding up a slender, bejeweled hand before Sarah could answer, “do not tell me. He is in the Library, yes?”

Sarah nodded. “How did you know?”

“Where else
would
he be? He swears that he comes here to visit me, but I honestly suspect it is to spend his time in Lucien's library. We've added a whole new wall since Richard was last here, so I shouldn't be surprised if we shan't see him for days, the ungrateful wretch,” the duchess said, allowing her voice to carry just as the door opened to admit a lanky young man, who strode purposefully into the room.

“I do not know how, or why, you put up with her,” the duchess's younger brother complained, overhearing her comments just as he had been intended to. “Such defamation of character, and before a man's wife,” Richard Verrick complained, glancing mockingly at his sister before placing a kiss on his wife's flushed cheek. “I swear Rina's tongue gets sharper with age. I always understood people were supposed to mellow with age.”