How to Please a Lady (4 page)

“I'm certain they are. I did not mean to imply the opposite, truly, but I was taken aback by how coincidental it is that you've had not one but two of my acquaintances as neighbors. I hope Caroline was a good neighbor.”

“She was. I dined at their home several times and they at mine. I was sad to see them leave.”

“Is New York very different from London?”

“Vastly. Everything is new there. Even the buildings that are meant to look old are new. We are such a young country, it's quite striking to be in a place where a new building is one built in the last two centuries.”

“And which do you prefer?”

“They both have their charms,” he said diplomatically.

“You truly do have a fine future in politics,” Rose said, laughing lightly. “Do you wish to be president some day?”

“I'm afraid nothing as lofty as that.”

“You will have a duchess in your corner, whatever you choose.”

He smiled, and again she was taken aback by just how very handsome he was. “I am grateful. For now, though, I would be content with a dance. Will you do me the honor?”

Rose glanced at her dance card and nodded. “Of course.”

The rest of the evening was like a pleasant dream. She danced with her father, who again told her how very proud he was, and Rose beamed a smile up at him. She'd never in her life felt so special, so loved, so full of hope for the future. As evening grew into morning and guests either left in their carriages or retired to their rooms, Rose sat next to her mother, who was exhausted but happy.

“I think the evening went quite well, Rose, quite well. His Grace remarked that you have comported yourself excellently all evening, and I think he is quite pleased with his choice.”

“I'm glad. He seems a very pleasant man and I do believe we shall get on well.” Rose wanted to believe her words, even though she still was more nervous than anything else around the man. It was his age, the way he looked at her, the way they didn't seem to have a single thing in common other than the fact they were marrying each other. While they were dancing their second waltz, she mentioned the possibility of going to the continent for their wedding trip, but he dismissed the idea immediately. “I do apologize, my dear, but going to the continent doesn't appeal to me in the least.”

Rose swallowed her disappointment, for she'd been secretly hoping for a lengthy wedding trip where she would finally be able to see the things she'd only been able to read about. Rome with its Colosseum, Greece with its Parthenon, Egypt with its pyramids. Everything seemed so exciting, but it was clear her future husband had no interest in travel.

“Now all you have to do is plan the perfect wedding, Mother,” Rose said with a tired laugh.

“I'm too exhausted to even give that a thought,” her mother said. “I'm off to bed. We'll have a late luncheon to allow everyone to get a good night's rest. Goodness, it's after four in the morning. Good night, Rose. I was so proud of you this evening and the envy of every mother here.” Her mother stood, then bent and kissed Rose's cheek.

“Good night, Mama.” Her mother smiled; Rose hadn't called her mother Mama in years.

She watched her mother head upstairs to bed, but as sleepy as she was, Rose did not follow her. All night, Moonrise had been on her mind, so instead of climbing sleepily up to her room, she headed to the stables.

The sky was just beginning to lighten when Charlie stepped into Moonrise's stall to check on the mare. She'd been a bit restless the previous evening, and after he'd tortured himself watching Lady Rose with her new fiancé, he'd walked the horse around the grounds to settle her down.

“How are you this morning, girl?” he asked, placing a palm against the mare's neck and giving it a good rub. Moonrise nickered lightly, almost as if answering. And Charlie, who knew horses better than people, figured she'd just told him she was holding up but a little worried about the strange thing that seemed to be happening to her.

The mare was showing all the right signs that she'd be foaling within the next day. He wondered if Lady Rose would be able to be there to comfort her mare. Or would she be caught up in the festivities that surrounded her engagement? He knew, given a choice, Lady Rose would rather be by Moonrise's side, just as he knew if her mother demanded her presence in the house, she would not be present when the little foal came into the world.

Light footsteps on the stone floor drew Charlie's attention away from the mare. “Hell,” he muttered, and leaned his head briefly against the mare's neck. He knew those footsteps, knew they belonged to the very lady he'd just been thinking about. He took a breath, trying to stop the sudden surge of longing that flooded him whenever he saw her. It was a damned nuisance. No matter how many times he braced for it, it came, unmanning and humiliating. Thank the Lord Jesus and all the Catholic saints that Lady Rose was completely oblivious to just how much he loved her.

“My lady,” he said, steeling himself for the smile he knew would appear on her lovely face. “You're up early.” He realized then she was still wearing her ball gown and looking far lovelier than a woman ought after dancing the night away. “Or is it late?”

“Late,” she said, indicating her gown and walking to the stall. She placed her gloved hands atop the smooth gate and looked worriedly at her mare. “How is she?”

“We'll have a foal before the day is out, I should think. She's waxing, you see. And there's been just a bit of milk.”

Lady Rose let herself into the stall and gave the mare a hug, completely ignoring the fact that her ball gown was brushing the floor, which wasn't entirely clean. Another sign a mare was about to foal was an increased appetite and thirst, the results of which were difficult to keep up with.

“How's my beautiful girl?” she said, her voice deep and soothing. She was still embracing the animal when she said, “I understand you're leaving us, Charlie. I heard from Marcus this evening.”

“Yes, my lady. It's off to America for me.”

She looked at him then and his heart gave a bit of a tumble to see her eyes had gone misty. “We all shall miss you. Terribly.”

“Most of you are already gone, and with you marrying in just a few months, it'd just be me and the horses left here.”

She gave the mare a pat, then stepped away to stand by him, her back to the closed gate. “Is that why you're leaving?” She gave him a slight smile. “Because you've been lonely?”

Charlie cleared his throat and wished he could stop the telling blush that stained his cheeks. “No, milady. There's opportunity for a man in America. My uncle lives there, owns a house, has a good position. If I stay here, I'll never own anything but the clothes on my back.”

“Is that so important? Owning something?”

“I suppose it is when you don't own a thing.”

She grinned. “Except the clothes on your back.” She suddenly wrapped her arms around herself as if she were cold. “Sometimes I wish nothing would change. We all had so much fun when we were children, did we not?”

“We did,” he said. Yes, it had been fun, at least more fun than digging horseshit out of stalls or shaving hooves. Even though all the Dunford children were kind, he was never truly one of them, nor did he expect to be. When they all went riding out, he would trail behind with a picnic hamper strapped to the horse, always a servant. When he was younger, he never questioned his role, never resented it. Now, he did. Now, when he knew he could be something more, when he thought of the possibility that someday someone might call him sir, those memories burned in his gut, only serving to remind him again and again that he was less. It was all made worse knowing that, as head groom, he shouldn't have the thoughts he had about the young lady of the house. He shouldn't spend nights awake thinking about what it would be like to make love to her, having all-too-vivid dreams of making love to her, waking up hard and aching and feeling like a fool.

His father had worried about him, about all the time he spent with the Dunford children. They'd all come back to the stable, smiling and laughing, and he'd be left behind to take off the horses' gear, to wipe them down, to feed and water them. To clean up the piss and shit. He remembered one day when he was about sixteen, and they'd all been out, riding and jumping. Lady Rose hadn't been with them that day, and the brothers had taken off their clothes and jumped into the small lake on the north end of the property. He'd stayed dressed, looking at that cool water with longing. But he'd known it wouldn't have been right for him to join them. They hadn't even asked. That was the first time it struck him: they were not his friends, they were his employers. Though they were kind and polite, he meant no more to them than the horses they rode.

He'd ridden back to the stables silently that day, not bothering to join in with the brothers' banter. They returned, thanked him, and off they went to the house to enjoy their evening. And he went to work, alone and sullen.

“I wondered when it was going to start botherin' you,” his father said, coming up next to him. Hell, Charlie had felt like crying, but he'd just nodded. It was only salt in the wound to find himself in love with Lady Rose. It didn't matter how many times he told himself of the foolishness of it, the futility, the idiocy. He loved her and he supposed a part of him always would, even when he was in the States and getting on with his life.

Just then Moonrise nickered loudly and kicked at her belly, making Charlie laugh. “She's likely wondering what that thing is inside her causing her discomfort and moving about.”

“Poor thing. I wish there was some way to let her know all will be well. It will, will it not?”

Charlie allowed himself to look at her and was slightly relieved she was staring at the mare, her expression filled with worry. Her shawl fell from one shoulder, leaving it bare and allowing him to glimpse the gentle, smooth top of one breast. He immediately looked away, angry with himself for looking at her that way, for debasing her with his lust. And he did lust after her, nearly as much as he loved her.

“I've no indication of any difficulty,” he said, his eyes on the horse. Good God, what if she had turned at that moment and seen him ogling her.

“That's good.” She yawned. “Goodness, I am tired. I will try to come to the stables tomorrow, but we've a busy day planned. His Grace and I are picnicking and later we're having a small concert. But please do send word when the foal is delivered. I wish I could be here all day tomorrow, but alas, I have my duties.”

“I will certainly send a message to the house when she safely delivers her foal,” Charlie said.

“Thank you. Good night, Charlie. Or rather, good morning.” She let out a light laugh and Charlie watched as she left the stall and walked toward the house in the early morning light.

“M
y dear, you hardly need a chaperone.”

“Grandmama always cautions about such outings. She says it gives a man permission to do things he oughtn't, that a man alone with a young lady cannot control his, um, base urges.” Rose's cheeks flushed and her mother laughed.

“I'm certain His Grace will be able to spend an hour or two alone with you on a fine summer's day without losing his head,” her mother said. “And if he should try to steal a kiss or two, it's perfectly acceptable. But only a kiss or two, young lady. It is up to a lady to call a halt to any unwanted advances, though I hardly think His Grace will give you any reason on that account. He's a gentleman of the finest ilk.”

Rose nodded, but her stomach was a jumble of nerves. She honestly didn't even think the duke would try to steal a kiss, but she also had no wish to be alone with him. She was such a nervous ninny when she was with him, and having another person there would give her a great deal of comfort. In less than three months, she would be alone with him every day, so she supposed she should get used to his company. “We have so little in common, Mother. What shall we talk about?”

“Not about Moonrise,” her mother said sternly.

“And not about politics or science or traveling, either. Did you know His Grace has no wish to travel, when it is something I longed to do when I married? I thought a wedding trip to the continent would be wonderful, but he is solidly against it.”

Her mother patted her shoulder. “Every marriage has compromises, dear. And as for conversation, ask His Grace about Mount Carlyle. Every man loves to talk about his home, the improvements he's made and the ones he's planning. It shall be your home, after all, and your curiosity would be a natural thing and a good topic of discussion.”

Rose smiled, grateful her mother had given her such wonderful advice. “Thank you, Mother. That is perfect.”

 

“I'd rather not discuss my plans for Mount Carlyle,” His Grace said, his tone brooking no argument. “Discussions of architecture and construction are tedious, and I'm quite certain you wouldn't understand at any rate.”

They'd decided to picnic by the lake, a fair distance from the house, which meant an interminable amount of time to try to come up with something they could discuss. The path to the lake was lovely, and since it was a warm day, quite pleasant. Weather was always a safe topic of conversation, Rose supposed.

“I'm so glad the weather cooperated with us so we might enjoy our picnic, Your Grace.”

The duke looked about as if just noticing what a fine day it was. “Indeed.”

“I thought last night was lovely, did you not?”

Weston walked five paces before answering. “It was a middling affair, though I did want to discuss something with you. I've found it's best to air grievances quickly.”

Rose looked up at him, mildly surprised. “You have a grievance, Your Grace?”

“Indeed I do. It's about your behavior last evening. I do realize you are young.” He gave her a tight smile, his eyes sweeping quickly down her form. “But when you are my wife, I would appreciate it if your attention was on me, not young swains.”

Rose stopped, and the duke stopped as well, facing her. “Whatever do you mean?” She thought back on the evening, on her “behavior,” and could not think of a single incidence where she hadn't acted like any other woman in the room. She did dance with men other than His Grace, but then she was expected to.

“You are a natural flirt. Men can misinterpret such a”—he paused and looked at her again, his eyes coldly assessing her—“talent. While I enjoy your charming personality, I would hate to think that other men might take your charm as invitation.”

Rose's cheeks flamed, and not from humiliation, but from anger. “Sir, I'm certain you misinterpreted what you saw. I hardly know how to flirt, and I certainly would never behave in a manner that would invite unwanted attention.”

His Grace chuckled, but there was little humor in his expression. “Now I've made you angry. You must not be.”

“I am not angry,” Rose said, and tried to calm her ire. “Simply taken aback.”

His Grace turned and began walking down the path again, and Rose followed, staring at his back with more than a bit of dismay. She knew it was good to spend time with the man before they married, but she worried that the more she got to know him, the less she liked him. That would never do.

“Your Grace, I do wish to please you,” she said, not wanting their argument to ruin their day.

He stopped again in the path and turned, slowly, to look at her. “Do you?” he asked softly, his eyes again drifting down her body and making Rose uncomfortable. “I should like to have a wife who wants to please me.”

Rose was horrified that he'd once again misinterpreted her. She was young and terribly naive, but she knew when a man looked at a woman the way the duke was looking at her that he was thinking carnal thoughts. Worse, His Grace thought
she
was thinking carnal thoughts.

“Of course I do,” Rose said, not knowing another way to respond. The way he was looking at her made her skin crawl.

“My last wife, God rest her soul, was a timid creature. She didn't care for the benefits of marriage,” he said, putting telling emphasis on the word
benefits
. “She was quite young when we married, as are you. I should not like another timid wife.”

Rose was quite certain her cheeks had never burned so brightly. He saw and laughed. “So innocent,” he said, lifting one hand and touching her cheek, and she willed herself not to move away. “I find it quite charming. Innocence. But only in small amounts.” He dropped his hand and studied her, his hooded gaze resting on her chest for so long, Rose had the urge to cover herself, but she forced herself to look at his face, not wanting to be timid.

“Yes, you will do nicely. See?” He looked down, and Rose was horrified to see he'd taken himself out. His . . . thing . . . fully erect, jutted obscenely from his trousers.

“Sir!”

“You have made me hard, my dear. And now you must take care of it.”

“We . . . we are not yet married. It . . . this is improper, Your Grace.” She swallowed, unable to again look at the large red thing protruding from his pants.

He laughed again, and Rose wanted to slap him. “You'll be a virgin on your wedding night. Have no worry. But I need release now and you will accommodate me. You will please me, Rose.” He placed one hand hard behind her neck; the other held his man thing, stroking obscenely.

“Please, Your Grace.” Rose tried to pull away, but his crushing grip on her neck made it impossible.

“Yes, please Your Grace,” he said, chuckling. He pressed on her neck, hurting her, squeezing with one beefy hand as he pushed her downward. “Get on your knees, my dear, and put me in your mouth.”