Duke of Deception (Wentworth Trilogy) (13 page)

When he unfastened a tie at the top of her dress, she didn’t care, wanting to feel whatever came next, unable to stop even as she knew she must. His hand slid up to cup her bared breast and she leaned into him, silently begging for more. He dragged his lips away from hers and looked into her eyes, his expression one of dazed wonder, and then a moment later his mouth closed over her nipple, greedily sucking. She gasped at a feeling so exquisite she thought she would faint from the pleasure of it.

His lips burned a trail from her breast upward along her neck, and she shivered at his warm breath on her ear. Then he was kissing her again, deeply, his breathing as ragged as her own. A moment later he groaned and then stopped. He slowly raised his head, and though she was still in a daze, she knew it was over.

“Lucy . . . my dear, sweet, wonderful Lucy. You are a temptress,” he whispered heavily into her ear, “but I’ll not forget our purpose here.” His voice held a note of genuine regret, but he moved away from her and began to straighten her dress and retie the tapes.

Her body still pulsing, she stared at him as she forced herself to think rather than feel. Taking a deep breath, she began to repair her appearance.

“Are you ready to become my wife?” he asked, his voice husky with emotion.

She said nothing, unable to push away the web of sensation that enveloped her. She had been so close, but close to what? To capitulating to him? She didn’t know, yet she knew he had not forced whatever she felt. It had come from deep within her, and it had been a yearning she could not decry. She had felt it keenly, as though there was nothing else for her in this life, nothing but her in his arms, and even now as she looked at him, at the sultry emotion in his gray eyes and the dark hair that dipped down almost to the shoulder of his wedding coat, even knowing that he was an American, a privateer, a man perhaps without conscience, she still wanted to begin again, wanted to lose herself in his kisses, lose herself to his demands.

She was deeply drawn to him and the realization saddened her. But she straightened herself and made ready to carry out her promise, knowing she had no choice.

T
he ceremony was over before she knew it, and she was the wife of an American privateer.

The thought was shocking, but the deed was done, and she must convince her guests that everything was as it should be. She had married Derek for Stonecrest and for those who depended on the manor for their livelihoods, but if those people guessed that she’d set aside her own happiness to ensure theirs, well . . . they wouldn’t be happy at all. She knew they wanted the best for her, and the best included a loving marriage.

Besides, if she and Derek were to have any chance at quelling the gossip amongst the
ton
that they’d been forced to marry, they would have to appear to be in love. He knew it as well as she, and so they each played their part.

Lucy had no doubt of
his
thoughts. Every time she turned around he was there, caressing her with his eyes or his hands. He claimed her for every dance, moving as close as he could without bringing reproach. Seduction was in his voice, his eyes, his every touch. He even insisted they sneak out to the terrace for a kiss, claiming it was expected of a couple in love. And what a kiss . . . Lucy was under siege, unable to control her reaction to him.

She was appalled that the crudest gossips decreed him to be a plunderer, a thief, a defiler of innocents . . . and yet she longed for his touch. Surely that said nothing good of her, but his spell was too powerful to resist. Once they were alone, she would be unable to fight her feelings. Indeed, she had been willing to succumb to him in the carriage before they were even wed. If she couldn’t have time away from him to fortify herself, she was done for, and so she waited for a chance to escape.

Finally, as they stood with Lady Foxworth, trying to chat above the din of chatter, laughter, and music, Derek excused himself and left the room. A moment later she excused herself too, blushing at the knowing smile that played across Lady Foxworth’s lips, realizing her friend assumed she and Derek were slipping away for a lovers’ tryst. If Lady Foxworth only knew!

She hurried along the corridor leading to her bedchamber, just as another cheer for “the captain” went up amongst the guests. There had been as many cheers for Derek as there had been for her and their marital bliss, but rather than feeling happiness at knowing her tenants and the villagers held Derek in such high esteem, that knowledge caused bouts of anxiety. What would happen when he returned to America? These people—
her
people—already held him in high regard, and their obvious infatuation made her situation more difficult.

She must resist his charm, even as she pretended otherwise. All she needed were a few moments alone to remind herself of the rumors that had circulated about him. Surely if she thought about all that horrid gossip in detail, she would be able to strengthen her willpower.

As she passed Derek’s door, it swung open and she froze, her discovery certain, but relief washed over her when the door remained ajar while the conversation within continued. Creeping by, she heard Derek say, a strong note of irritation in his voice, “What the devil is that supposed to mean?” and she shrank back against the wall, not meaning to eavesdrop, but too tempted to stop herself.

“How should I know?” replied Lord Aster in a low voice. “I’m only telling you what I heard, and I wouldn’t even be doing that if you weren’t so certain her family is somehow involved. Maybe her reputation has nothing to do with her uncle or her father. This gentleman, if he was one, could have been speaking of something else entirely. It probably has nothing to do with the other matter. What does the phrase
not respectable
mean in terms of a lady? Perhaps all he meant was that she’s not chaste. Would it be such a crime if she’d been seduced previously? She is almost twenty after all, past the age of first passion.”

“She’s passionate all right, but I believe she’s also innocent,” Derek growled, “and I’ll let you know tomorrow, for I plan to have her tonight.”

“What? Going back on your word? That isn’t like you, Derek.”

“Never, my friend,” Derek replied. “But my word was only that I wouldn’t take her unwillingly. By the time I’m finished with my seduction tonight, she’ll be more than willing, I guarantee it.”

“Enough to place a wager on it?”

“Why not? How can I refuse taking your money when you are always so eager to give it?”

Lucy hardly knew how she made it to her bedchamber. Once there, she shut the door and sagged against it, her face burning with anger. Scores of unpleasant thoughts crowded her mind.

“Of all the arrogant, conceited, braggart things to say. How dare he discuss our private relationship with Lord Aster. He is a cad!” she fumed to her empty room. He had given his word, but obviously that meant little to him! And to brag that he could seduce her so easily . . .

Her so-called husband would pay for this, she vowed. No longer did she worry that she wouldn’t be able to resist his advances. Every time she thought of his conceited wager, a rage swept through her, leaving her weak. And to think she had considered him a sensitive, compassionate man in the carriage.

Oh, he would definitely pay. This would be a night he would remember, but not for the reasons he might think.

T
he door opened to Lucy’s bedchamber and she forced her body to remain still. After celebrating their nuptials by dancing with every man present, she had declared herself to be exhausted and retired to her bedchamber.

She waited, hearing the door click shut. Next came the thud of shoes being kicked off and the rustle of clothing, sometimes accompanied by a soft grunt or sigh. He had not brought a valet with him upon his return, and she wondered if it was an American custom for a man, even a wealthy one, to dress himself, or if he had not bothered with a valet because he knew his stay at Stonecrest would be a short one. She hoped it was the latter, especially now as she lay bristling over his conversation with Lord Aster.

Finally, the bed sagged with his weight, and she breathed in the scent of his cologne as he edged closer to her. Then his hand was upon her, but only for an instant.

“What the devil do you mean sleeping in your gown?” he sputtered. The bed shook as he threw off the covers and sat up. “And a long-sleeved one at that? Get out of bed immediately and take that blasted thing off!”

“Ummm?” Lucy murmured as she rolled over onto her back. “Is something amiss?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice lowered this time. “I said get out of bed and take off that gown.”

“Cursing is not a good way to begin a marriage,” Lucy said, making her voice sound groggy with sleep. “Our agreement said nothing of attire.” She rolled back on her side, expecting an argument to ensue, but her words were greeted with silence. A very long silence.

Then she felt him slide back under the covers. He snuggled up to her. “As you wish, sweetheart. Just remember our bargain said nothing about caresses, either. I hope it won’t bother you that I prefer to sleep naked, curled up against your soft, warm body. I’m sure it will be very warm too, with all those layers wrapped around you.”

Lucy cringed when he settled himself against her more firmly, matching the length of his body to hers. She was furious with him and wanted more than anything to roll over and slap him in the face for the things he had said to Lord Aster. But she wouldn’t. She would exact her revenge, and it would be sweeter than any slap could ever be. He must be jealous from her flirtations, but that wasn’t enough. If she must spend an uncomfortable night, then so would he. She would tease him, let him think she couldn’t resist him. It would make his disappointment so much more keenly felt.

Wriggling, she let out a soft moan.

His reaction was immediate. He pulled her hard against him, his movements almost frantic. “Lucy, it’s no shame to desire your husband, and God knows, I want you. Let’s begin our marriage now, tonight. You won’t be sorry, I promise.”

Lucy’s anger rose and she gritted her teeth. Yes, he
would
like to begin the marriage tonight, wouldn’t he? She wondered exactly what the wager involved. Well, he wouldn’t win it in any event. She pressed against him, moaning a little more loudly this time, and was gratified to feel his instant response.

She turned a little on her back, giving him better access to her body and he took advantage of the opportunity, running his hands over her, kneading her breasts, or at least trying to. She congratulated herself for her idea of donning the extra clothes. Without the pantaloons, the chemise, the shift, the petticoat, and the dress she had bundled herself in, she would surely be doomed to fail at resisting his planned seduction, for as angry as she was about his wager, she was having a difficult time controlling her body’s response to his caresses and his increasing arousal.

And he was definitely very aroused. His breathing was heavy and ragged, his moans growing ever louder as he rubbed against her. He flipped her skirts up and a second later his hand slid between her thighs.

Enough was enough. She let out a long, sleepy sigh and turned over on her stomach. “I’ve let you caress me, but I’m exhausted and I really need to sleep. I have a busy day ahead of me tomorrow.”

There came a loud huff that was part groan, then silence.

Frustrated and disappointed, Derek let her words sink in. Lucy deserved to be exhausted after spending hour upon hour fluttering her eyelashes at every male between the ages of eighteen and eighty, including Stephen, who had found her behavior amusing. Derek knew his temper was stretched when he snapped at Stephen that he had no business laughing, that if Lucy’s behavior was any indication of her character, then Stephen would lose the bet. Stephen had replied with a smug smile, saying he wasn’t worried.

The implication of Stephen’s words, that Lucy might cavort with other men but not with Derek, irritated him prodigiously. He didn’t really care about winning the bet—not much, anyway—but he did care whether or not his wife was a virgin. If Lucy was with child now, that child would be his heir, heir to the dukedom and the Wentworth holdings as well.

Even if he discounted her flirtations, that fact alone more than justified his plan of seduction. This business of waiting a month for consummation was girlish silliness on her part or else calculated conniving. Either way, he had expected to have an easy time changing her mind. She was passionate and quickly aroused, and he knew how to stir that arousal.

Just now she had been close to succumbing; he was sure it. If only she hadn’t been wearing all those pieces of clothing. If only he’d been able to touch her bare skin, he could have seduced her. Damn her conniving—and damn those clothes!

His erection throbbed and his groin was heavy with the dull ache of unsatisfied lust. Since meeting Lucy, he seemed to spend most of his waking hours in a state of arousal, and with no release thus far. The situation couldn’t continue much longer.
He
couldn’t continue much longer. He must come up with a plan.

He rolled over onto his back. His engorged cock stood straight, rigid with arousal, making a ridiculous tent of the covers. He would never get to sleep now, not with her luscious body beside him.
And
he had lost the bet.

What a fine wedding night this had turned out to be!

L
ucy struggled to the edge of consciousness. The clothing had been unbearably hot and confining, and though she’d finally fallen asleep, she’d slept in fits and starts, tossing and turning throughout the night.

She peered out from beneath her lashes, wary of her situation. Finding herself alone in bed, she sat up with a groan but upon hearing Derek’s chuckle, she sank back against the pillows. “Could I please have some privacy?” she sniped. “I wish to dress.”

Derek chuckled again. “Why, Lucy, you’re already dressed. Why don’t we go on down to breakfast together?”

“You can’t expect me to go downstairs in this, and I need my maid to assist me with my morning toilette. So, if you don’t mind . . . ”

“I do mind, my darling bride, but in this case I will acquiesce, as long as you promise to meet me downstairs for breakfast. I have something to discuss with you.”

Lucy glanced at him, disgruntled. “What can we possibly have to discuss already? We have only been married one day. If you think you are going back on your word . . . ”

“You injure me, madam. I always keep my word. But I can see that last night’s sleeping arrangements will not work, and I’ve come up with an idea you might appreciate.”

He crossed the room to the door, his movements fluid and graceful. How dare he look so refreshed and contented when she barely had the strength to crawl out of bed. But of course,
he
hadn’t tried to sleep in several stifling layers of clothing.

She climbed out of bed and reached for the bell, only to remember that she didn’t want Bridget to see her dressed thus, and
that
made her stamp her foot. She was weary enough without having to remove all the garments she’d donned the night before.

Her plan hadn’t worked very well, evidently, for he didn’t seem the least bit frustrated by their little contest of wills. But if that was true, why had he come up with an idea for improving their sleeping arrangements? Surely he wasn’t concerned about her comfort. Perhaps he had suffered, after all.

The thought gave her some satisfaction. It wasn’t enough to make up for the annoyance of having to undress and redress herself, but she resigned herself to the task.

“S
o, you’re finally up,” Eleanor teased, closing the door to Lucy’s bedchamber behind her. “Your husband has been up for hours, and we’ve already had a pleasant chat. I don’t believe you’ve slept in this late for—my goodness, why are you dressed in that?” Eleanor stopped short and stared at Lucy, who was struggling with her dress tapes. “Are you taking that off or putting it on?”

“Off. It’s a long story and one I’d rather not go into right now.” Lucy tugged at the thin ribbons. “I have the headache and my
husband
is waiting for me downstairs. Ooh! Help me get this blasted thing off!”

“There is no reason to curse,” Eleanor said disapprovingly as she helped Lucy with the old gown. “It’s a new day and a new beginning for Stonecrest. Just think! Today you have your own money to begin the improvements you’ve planned for two long years, improvements your father had hoped to do. That thought surely must brighten your spirits.”

Lucy immediately perked up, and a smile brightened her face. “You’re right, of course. It will be exciting to finally order the supplies. Will you come with me to the village, perhaps after breakfast?”

Eleanor helped Lucy out of the old dress, and then slipped a cheerful morning gown from the wardrobe. She looked it over and pulled a face.

“What?” Lucy asked, as she stepped out of the old pantaloons.

“What, indeed,” Eleanor replied. She nodded down at the dangling pocket and Lucy burst into laughter.

“Bridget must have overlooked it.”

“Perhaps you should consider removing the pockets on all your gowns. Something tells me you have no intention of stopping this game with your horse.”

With Lucy still chuckling, Eleanor set the dress aside and selected another, deciding that the lighthearted atmosphere presented a good opportunity to bring up the subject she’d come to discuss with her niece.

“Lucy, dear, I have something to tell you.” Her gaze met Lucy’s in the dressing mirror and the smile dropped from Lucy’s face. So much for beginning on a lighthearted note.

“Nothing’s wrong, darling. You needn’t look so concerned. I just wanted to tell you I am traveling to Yorkshire. I shall be gone for, oh, a fortnight or perhaps a month. In fact, I am packed and ready to leave.”

“Surely you aren’t leaving to give us privacy. You of all people know it’s a marriage in name only.”

“No, it’s not that,” Eleanor said. “I really do have some business to attend to in the north. I have put it off; I was uneasy leaving you alone. But now you have a husband to keep you company, and you will be so busy with Stonecrest you won’t even notice my absence.”

She picked up the brush from Lucy’s table and began to gently brush the mussed tendrils that hung down Lucy’s back.

“My goodness! Your hair is a mess of tangles!” Her gaze flew to the bed, scanning for any indication that something other than sleep had taken place there.

“I tossed all night from the heat. It was
his
fault. He insisted on sleeping with me, saying the servants would talk. I had to protect myself with all those clothes,” Lucy finished sheepishly.

Eleanor lips quirked with humor as she wondered how the captain had fared the night sleeping next to a bundled-up Lucy. Other than some strain about his eyes, he hadn’t shown any signs of weariness during their chat, but perhaps he was used to catching hours of sleep at odd times. “Well, he’s right, darling. The servants would talk. But tell me truthfully, were you protecting yourself from him or from you?”

“Both,” Lucy admitted, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. “I don’t know why, but every time I’m around him, I lose sight of my purpose in this arrangement. His manner is persuasive, even though he infuriates me!”

Eleanor laughed. “He’s a very attractive man, darling. A woman would have to be dead to be immune to his charms.” She tried to think of the proper way to word what she had to say. She had spoken with the captain at length that morning, trying to draw him out, but he was hiding something, and she had the uncanny feeling he was aware of her suspicions. Still, he gave his word that no harm would come to Lucy during Eleanor’s absence. In fact, he was coldly furious when she broached the subject, as though she was questioning his honor, but she wouldn’t let his manner deter her. Her decision was a difficult one, and it depended solely upon her trust in him to care for her niece. Ironic, considering the purpose of her travel.

“His charm is one of the reasons you must be careful, Lucy. What I mean is, I think he is a man of principles—at least I hope he is—but that doesn’t mean everything is exactly as it seems. You
should
be careful to keep sight of your purpose, until I return from my trip, anyway. More importantly,” she added softly, “I think you should be careful to guard your heart.”

Lucy looked up at Eleanor’s reflection in the mirror and their eyes met again. “You needn’t worry about that,” Lucy said, her voice as somber as her words. “His gallant offer to save my reputation doesn’t deceive me. I know he has another motivation for this marriage, and I’ll not have him adding my name to what must be a very long list of conquests. He’s much
too
charming, if you ask me. I’ve no choice but to guard my heart.”

“C
ontest?” Lucy gave Derek a skeptical look, though she was glad he’d said something to pull her out of her reverie. If he meant to join her for breakfast every morning, he would need to wear the proper attire. How was she supposed to eat with him sitting there half-naked?

“Where’s your cravat?” she snapped, jerking her gaze from the vee of his open shirt to his face, annoyed to find him choking back a laugh.

“My, my, aren’t we a little testy this morning? Didn’t you sleep well, my love?” His eyes sparkled with amusement.

“I slept just fine, thank you, but I’m not accustomed to taking breakfast with a half-dressed man.” Frowning at him, she snatched up an apple and began to expertly peel the skin away, forcing herself to concentrate on her task.

“It never occurred to me that you’d be so flustered by something as innocuous as my throat, or believe me, I’d have ceased wearing cravats the moment we met. Now, what about my suggestion?”

Lucy scoffed. “A contest to decide our sleeping arrangements? You must think me daft. Surely you would win at anything you propose.”

“That’s why you should choose the contest and make all the rules. I’ll agree right now to abide by them.”

“And?” she asked suspiciously. “What happens if you win?”

“If I win, I want you to undress for me and sleep in my arms again, this time without your clothes,” he added, mischief in his voice.

“Oh! I should have known. I would be a fool to go along with any scheme of yours. Why, you’re nothing but a rake who looks to his own pleasure.”

“My dear lady, whether you admit it or not, we are man and wife. I see nothing wrong with wanting to be close to my wife.” Derek sat back in his chair and regarded her with wry humor. “You can choose your prize. Perhaps if you win, you’d prefer I sleep in Hades?”

Lucy pursed her lips lest she smile. Yes, her
husband
was much too charming for his own good. Well, for
her
own good, anyway. “I would prefer it, but I can’t see any way to force you there, short of murder. If I win, I would have you sleep in another room until the month is up.”

“Done! We agree on the prizes. Now, pick the contest.”

“You mean to say that whether I choose to match you at pistols or embroidery matters not? You will abide by my decision?” Already her mind was racing as she tried to think of a contest she could win. She plopped a piece of apple into her mouth and considered the possibilities.

“Declaring a winner of an embroidery contest would be a matter of personal taste. Not that I mind. You might be surprised at my sewing talents. I can stitch together sailcloth with a seam so straight and smooth you’d think it had been done in a mantua-maker’s salon,” he said, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

Wonderful,
Lucy thought. There was probably nothing he couldn’t do, whereas in her case, there were few, if any, activities she was proficient enough in to have an even chance against him.

He was undoubtedly a good shot, not that he would have to be to best her, and that was unfortunate. Target shooting was one of the few contests she could think of where he wouldn’t have a physical advantage. It was also a shame she had never learned to play cards, though something told her he would best her at that too.

Her frustration mounted. She needed time to think about it. She would take Ahote for a long ride after she went into the village. Hatless and with the wind rushing against her face, she’d be able to make the right decision.

Startled, she realized she knew the perfect contest.

“When did you first go to sea?” she asked him indifferently.

“When I was fourteen. Why?”

“What did you do before that?”

“Got into trouble, mostly. Again, why do you ask?”

“No reason,” she replied with an innocent shrug. He’d been at sea for most of his life and it was unlikely, given the type of childhood he must have had, that the upbringing of his early years would have included familiarity with a stable of horses. In any event, he would have to be quite excellent to best her. Her father had loved horses and they spent much time racing one another.

“I choose a horse race,” she said. “I’ll draw the route and you can look it over at your convenience. Agreed?”

Seemingly unperturbed by her choice of contest, he took a big bite of the ham and eggs he’d heaped on his plate. A second later he grabbed his napkin and spat his mouthful of food into it. “What the devil! Are you trying to poison me?”

Lucy gawked at him, taking in his shocked look, before she realized what had happened. A giggle rose in her throat and she chewed her lip. “You shouldn’t have taken such a large bite,” she said as she reached for a thin slice of yellow cheese to place on top of her slice of apple. “It’s always best to test the dishes first with a teeny, tiny taste. That way, if it’s horrible, you can spit it out, take a quick drink and be done with it.”

Derek glowered at her. “What the devil are you talking about? If you think this is funny . . . ”

She did indeed think it was funny, wildly funny, and she could no longer stop the giggle. It quickly turned into choked laughter, though, when she realized he was actually angry, and she used every bit of willpower trying to smother her laughter with a frown. “You can’t possibly think I would do such a thing on purpose. Matilda isn’t a very good cook, that’s all. But she tries hard, really she does, and I think it only fair to let her practice with the menu.”

“Practice? Practice?” Derek sputtered. “By God, she won’t be practicing on me, I can tell you that. I could cook better eggs than these, and so could my dog. What does she practice with? Horse manure?”

“It isn’t necessary to be impolite.”

“Isn’t it? When my bride is trying to poison me? I notice you didn’t try any of the fare,” he said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion at the display of fruits and cheeses on her plate.

“I just told you it wasn’t intentional,” Lucy insisted. She picked up a small piece of egg and held it to her nose. “Matilda is one of the kindest girls in the world. She would never intentionally feed anyone, even a pirate, something that would . . . ” With one whiff of the nauseating odor stemming from the cooked egg, Lucy looked away, covering her mouth.

“What?” Derek placed his napkin carefully on the plate and leaned back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest.

“The eggs are rotten. I’m sorry. Truly I am. Matilda just doesn’t know very much about cooking.”

“May I ask why you have a cook who can’t cook?”

Lucy offered a coy smile. Her arrangements were really none of his business.

“I don’t suppose I should bother trying the biscuits?” Derek asked as he longingly eyed the basket of warm baked goods.