How to Deceive a Duke (12 page)

Chapter 23

N
icholas studied her. Her magnificent hair was tangled around her, and feathered over the velvet squabs like a spider’s web, glinting copper fire. He remembered the feel of it wrapped around his naked flesh, and the way her anger had melted to passion in bed. The rowdy reclamation of his bride had been arousing.

What should he say? Should he threaten to lock her up, tie her to the bed, send her away? He would walk away from any other woman, but this woman was his wife. Every time they’d spoken so far, they’d argued. There was only one place they agreed, it appeared. He couldn’t let her off the hook for her treachery so easily. He would have to teach her who was in command. She was staring out the window, refusing to look at him.

“There was a bet at White’s last night as to what color your hair was,” he said. “St. James reported that it was blond, like spun gold. I said it was red, and I was roundly accused of bedding you in the dark.” Her eyes swung to him at last, unwilling curiosity mixed with anger in their hazel depths.

“The betting went against red, since most people know I like blondes.”

She looked away. “Then go find one!”

He leaned forward, closing the distance between them.

“I had a blonde lined up, but you took her place. Now I’ve discovered I have a penchant for redheads after all.”

She swallowed and looked out the window again. Did she imagine she could shut him out so easily? He wanted her eyes on him, her full attention. He captured a long lock of her hair and wound it slowly around his hand, reeling himself toward her until he had to come and sit next to her. She edged away along the seat, glaring at him like a cornered cat.

She was beautiful when she was angry. He kissed the hair around his hand and looked into her eyes, silently reminding her of everything he’d done to her on their wedding night.

She drew a sharp breath.

“I’ve a mind to take you to the theater tonight. Once people see your glorious hair, I stand to win a great deal of money.” He kissed her hair again as if it were a gambler’s charm. “Perhaps I’ll buy you a bauble.” He kissed her cheek, her earlobe. She smelled sweet.

Her breath hitched.

“What would you like, Maggie?” he whispered in her ear and felt her shiver, saw goose bumps rise on her skin in the wake of his kiss. She shut her eyes, a futile effort to block him out. “A diamond? A jewel to match your eyes? Maybe a ruby to symbolize a drop of virgin’s blood.”

Her eyes flew open and met his. With a cry of fury, she pushed him with all her strength. He slid off the seat onto the floor of the coach, but she was obliged to follow, since her hair was still coiled around his hand. She landed on top of him in an ungainly sprawl. He freed his hand and brought his arms around her, holding her in place, keeping her fists in control. She wriggled like a hooked fish, muttering much more inventive curses now, ones that surprised even him for their originality. He’d never been called a poxy, dog-bitten, louse-raddled horse thief before.

He laughed. He couldn’t help it.

“Oh, Maggie, the more you squirm, the better it feels!”

She went completely still, and stared down at him in horror.

He grinned at her. “I think I may even have missed you last night, wife.”

“I’m sure you found a willing substitute.”

He gave her his most devilish, irresistible grin, and shifted his hips, letting her feel what she did to him. Color filled her cheeks.

“I had plenty of offers, but alas, they were all blondes, and I was in the mood for a redhead. I like redheads.” He lifted his mouth to catch her lips. “Saucy—” He kissed her again. “Spicy.”

She looked down at him as if she did not quite believe him, and he remembered that she had never played lovers’ games before. One more thing he’d teach her, after obedience.

She tried to rise, perhaps understanding at last the danger she was in, what his intention was, but he held her in place.

“Perhaps I won’t give you a jewel. Perhaps I’ll give you the blue book you so enjoyed, further your education.”

She swung at him again and he caught her wrist.

She fought him. “How dare you tell everyone—”

The coach hit a rut, and drove her body against his, knocking whatever she was about to say out of her head. He nipped her earlobe.

She gasped, tried to pull away. “Really, Your Grace, I think—” she objected.

“I told you never to call me that in bed.” He didn’t miss the way she tilted her head to give him better access to her throat.

“But we’re not in bed,” she murmured. He smiled against the hammering pulse point. She really did think too much. He’d have to break her of that habit, and this was as good a time as any to start.

But another jolt brought her back to reality. She was even stronger of mind than he thought. He really would have to speak to Rogers about his driving. His seductive spell broke, and he felt her stiffen, renewing her struggles. “You gossiped about me!” she accused him. “You told everyone what I said about horses!” she panted.

He had no idea what she was talking about. “I never gossip, Maggie.”

“Then who—” she began, and he captured her lips again to silence her.

“I never listen to gossip either. Nor should you. Most of it isn’t true.” He started the process of seduction again, licking at the seam of her stubborn lips, nibbling at the fullness of them, tasting the corners until she relented and opened to him, kissing him back with a hunger that rivaled his own.

Neither of them felt the coach come to a stop.

F
ootman Rob Vale’s jaw dropped as he opened the door of the coach and found the Duke of Temberlay and his bride tangled on the floor, completely unaware that he was standing there gaping at them. Rob didn’t quite know what to do. He’d only been in service for a month.

He knew all about the duke’s reputation, of course. Who didn’t? The man was a proper tomcat, but this was his
wife
. No matter how long he stayed in service, he’d never understand the upper classes. They didn’t marry for love, or for whatever this was. They kept mistresses for that. Strings of ’em, in His Grace’s case.

Thinking quickly, Rob supposed privacy was in order. It wouldn’t do to lose his place because he’d seen his master a-kissin’ his missus, so he shut the door again and knocked loudly on the gleaming ducal crest that gave the coach grace and dignity, even if what was going on inside did not. He listened to the commotion, and waited for the thumping to stop.

When he opened the door again, he was relieved to find the duke seated on his own side of the coach. Her Grace was in her place as well, looking perfectly normal, though her pretty face was flushed, and her hair unbound. Rob lowered the step to help her out of the coach. She picked up her skirts and fled as soon as her feet hit the cobbles, scooting up the steps as if the devil was on her heels. He wasn’t. He was standing next to Rob, watching her go, looking rather bemused.

“Not a word, Robert,” His Grace murmured. Rob couldn’t help it. He grinned back like a conspirator.

“ ’Course not, Your Grace.”

The duke didn’t follow his wife into the house. He got back into the coach and drove away.

“Was that His Grace?” Tom, another footman asked, watching the coach depart.

“Aye,” Rob replied. “As long as I live, I’ll never understand the upper classes.”

“Are we supposed to?” Tom asked.

N
icholas smiled to himself as the coach pulled away. He’d been tempted to follow her, to take her upstairs and finish what they’d started. He’d spend all day in her bed, and the whole of the night as well. There he’d stopped cold. She’d have him wrapped around her finger.

He couldn’t have that. He’d made his point, shown her he was in charge, proven he could seduce her any time he wished, and she was powerless to resist him, or herself. He decided it would do more good to leave her alone to mull over her lesson.

He ran a finger under his cravat. To be honest, he’d been as seduced as she, and that put him on dangerous ground.

He
wanted
the damned duplicitous, stubborn little hellcat.

He shook his head, trying to dismiss her from his thoughts. He wasn’t a green lad. He was in full control. He told himself that he’d won this round in the game, and smiled smugly at the seat she’d so recently occupied.

A long strand of red hair clung to the squabs, glowing like lust in the morning sun. The sight of it, the taste of her on his lips, the faint hint of her perfume lingering in the coach, had him hard as a rock.

Chapter 24

T
he fact that Temberlay didn’t bother to follow her upstairs after he’d taken the trouble to abduct her and seduce her in the coach didn’t bother her in the least, Meg told herself.

She sat at her desk, and pretended to write letters, but she was watching the door, waiting for him. Hoping.

The clock ticked the morning away, and half the afternoon, and he did not come.

She dressed for tea in an embroidered gown of ochre silk, and entertained a dozen ladies who came to stare at her. If they were surprised that her hair was red, or that she was introduced as Marguerite and not Rose, they were too polite to show it, especially with the dowager duchess seated by her side.

Meg hardly noticed if there were snide comments or indelicate glances. Her eyes were on the door, still expecting Temberlay to walk through it. She imagined the stir it would cause if he were to hoist her over his shoulder now and carry her off, but he did not come.

She forced a placid smile when Lady Emmett commented on the weather, even as she fumed silently. Why bother to drag her away from Bryant House just to ignore her? Perhaps this was her punishment.

“Would you care to join me at the opera tonight, Your Grace? There’s a chance the Russian tsar and his sister will be in attendance,” Delphine St. James, Sebastian’s sister asked.

Lady Clive rolled her eyes. “The tsar! How dull a topic he is becoming. Every glittering monarch and commander who defeated Napoleon is in Town, and there are only two things anyone can talk about—the tsar, and Devil’s marriage!” She put a hand over her mouth, and colored at her gaff. “Oh, I do beg your pardon, Your Grace!”

Meg smiled sweetly. “I hear the tsar is very handsome, and his sister is a beauty. I am quite looking forward to seeing them myself.” She glanced at the door again.

“You’re quite right, Lady Clive. No one will notice if the tsar attends. Everyone will be looking at the new Duchess of Temberlay,” the dowager said, sipping her tea. “Yes, you should attend the opera this evening, Marguerite, let them see the Devil’s wife.”

A flurry of invitations from the other guests followed Delphine’s, to balls, parties, teas, races, and breakfast routs. Meg wondered how she’d keep such a hectic schedule straight, especially with such distraction as Nicholas.

A
s she dressed for the evening, Meg listened for sounds of Nicholas’s return, but beyond the connecting door, his suite was quiet. She chose a dress of sea green silk with delicate puffed sleeves.

“I have brought you the Temberlay pearls to wear, Marguerite,” the dowager duchess said, arriving with her maid, who carried the box. At a wave of the dowager’s hand, the maid opened it with a flourish. Meg gasped. The collar was magnificent, set with a large yellow diamond in the center.

“Should I not wait for an occasion when I am with Temberlay?” she murmured as the cold pearls touched her skin.

“He is no doubt busy with some male pursuit tonight,” the dowager said, looking at the necklace in the mirror and avoiding Meg’s eyes. “Like buying a racehorse, or dining at one of his damnable clubs.”

“Or perhaps he’s with one of his mistresses,” Meg said tartly. Lavish jewels could never make up for a lack of love or even regard from her husband.

“Don’t be impertinent, Marguerite. It is equally important to be seen in public with someone like Delphine St. James. She and her sister are quite influential. Win her, and you’ll win the
ton
.”

Pride and position—it was all that mattered to the dowager, while Nicholas flouted both. Where exactly did Meg fit in? How was she to act if the
ton
imagined her husband was disappointed with her? She supposed the pearls were meant to be a sign of her acceptance, his ownership of her.

She turned away from the mirror and rose, letting Anna settle her cloak around her shoulders.

The dowager looked her over and nodded her approval. “Remember who you are, and keep your chin high.”

Meg took her place in the St. Jameses’ box at the opera. Delphine leaned in. “No one is watching the opera. Every pair of opera glasses in the house is trained on you, Meg.”

“No doubt they’re surprised I am not blond,” Meg murmured.

Delphine laughed. “Not at all. Nicholas never did the expected thing in his life. They are all scrambling to say they were the first to know all about you.” She regarded Meg. “Are you concerned there will be awkward questions?”

“Our marriage was—hasty,” Meg said.

“It was arranged. No one expects it to be a grand romance,” Delphine replied. “There are plenty of women who envy you, foolish debutantes mostly, who imagined that they would be the one to capture him. He’s never been the marrying kind.”

“You seem to know him well,” Meg said.

“He and Sebastian have been friends since school. Nicholas was every bit as bad as Seb once, but that was before he went to war. He came back a different man.”

“How so?” Meg asked.

“Harder, more circumspect. He’s not the man he used to be, the one in the scandal sheets. Perhaps it was David’s death, or inheriting the title. And now he’s married.” She sighed. “I must admit I quite admired him myself for a time, had hopes . . . I wish Sebastian had gone to war. He must grow up sometime, and I despair of that ever happening.”

Delphine raised her opera glasses and scanned the crowds with as much eagerness as they were scanning her. She lowered them again. “It appears the tsar has not come tonight after all. Or the grand duchess, but look, Claire Howard has made a rare appearance.”

Meg looked at a lady sitting with an older woman in the box across from them. She looked very young, and very pale. She wore a magnificent necklace as well. She nodded to Meg.

“Wasn’t she at tea today?” Meg asked.

“Yes, with her dreadful companion, Miss Phipps. Her husband is Augustus Howard. He adores Claire, can’t bear to let her out of his sight for fear she’ll run off with the man she loved before her parents insisted she marry him. Augustus is old enough to be her grandfather. Claire only appears in public with her husband or her companion, and no one has ever seen Claire Howard smile.”

“How sad,” Meg said.

“Uh oh—Fiona Barry is looking this way—smile!” Delphine chirped. Meg felt her skin heat under the unaccustomed scrutiny of the audience.

They were probably wondering where her husband was, and why she was here alone. She searched the crowds for a friendly face. Claire Howard gave her a shy smile. Meg smiled back. Delphine caught her arm.

“Look, there’s Major Lord Ives,” Delphine sighed. “I have quite set my cap for him. My sister is married to a colonel, and I think it would please me to marry an officer like Major Ives if I can’t have—well, Stephen Ives is almost as heroic as Nicholas, I hear. I daresay Nicholas would still be in uniform if he hadn’t inherited the title.”

The handsome officer nodded to Delphine, and regarded Meg for a long moment before he looked away. Did Nicholas look as magnificent in his scarlet tunic?

“Delphine, why did Nicholas inherit the title? What happened to his brother?”

She tore her eyes away from Major Ives. “David? He died in an accident. No one really knows the circumstances, since the dowager refused to say. His death was simply announced in the papers without explanation. There were rumors of a duel over a lady, but it was a year ago now. Nicholas came home from war months later to take the title, and now everyone would rather talk about him.”

A year ago. The same time her father had died. Meg wondered if Nicholas had been close to his brother, had suffered when he died, felt grief, as she had. She studied the diamond wedding band. She knew nothing about her husband.

At intermission, there was a rush of people wanting an introduction to the new Duchess of Temberlay. Delphine was quite right. No one seemed to find it odd that she had red hair, or that her husband of three days was not by her side. She smiled and exchanged pleasantries.

“You’re a natural at this, Meg. You’ll be busy tomorrow, beset with callers who wish to know you,” Delphine predicted. “And poor Gardiner will be awash in invitations.”

Whatever tomorrow brought, tonight Meg would go home and offer an apology to her husband for her deception. Perhaps he was indeed more than he appeared.

Start as you mean to go on.
The words haunted her.

It was time to start again.