The Duke Takes a Bride (Entitled Book 2) (21 page)

“
I
’ll take
care of the loose ends from here,” Lukas said, shutting his laptop, surreptitiously eyeing him with the same wary and sympathetic look he had been receiving from the rest of the partners of the firm for the past month.

No one had said a word about the baby. Rumors about Imogen’s pregnancy and subsequent miscarriage floated in the media but since Julian had neither denied nor confirmed it, no one had dared to bring it up.

The conference table was littered with dirty coffee cups, half-filled bottles of water, and fair trade green tea in ceramic tea cups. The youthful bio-enterprenuers who had been in the meeting, brimming with ideas and life, were long gone.

Julian felt old. Hell, he probably looked it, too. He was traveling every week, to the London office, to Silicon Valley, to Hong Kong. His body clock was out of sync. He could only sleep in snatches. A polo tournament in Deauville was coming up, but he was always too tired to practice. He ran instead but found that the adrenaline high afterwards made sleeping more difficult.

Some of the meetings he could have delegated, but he knew with stark honesty it was so he couldn’t go home and see her.

See her ignore him. See her flinch from his voice. See her growing sadder and sadder.

It was to be his punishment. He bore it because it was the only way to deal with his guilt. But he couldn’t bear it any longer. For both their sakes. Sooner or later, something had to give.

“Yes, thank you, Lukas,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral, but something must have filtered through, a tiny crack in his voice, a hitch in his breathing−a hint of pain.

“Are you alright?” The question was studiedly casual. As if Lukas had to ask but really wouldn’t know what to do if he spilled his guts right there and then.

“Smashing,” he answered, injecting just the proper amount of sarcasm, sangfroid, and humor that would show he still had it. Whatever it was. He sat up straighter from his seat at the head of the table. “Make sure you send the partners a copy of the proposed business plan.”

“Will do.” The young man gathered his laptop and placed it inside his bag, something that looked like it was made of patches of commercial food-product foil wrappers. Lukas opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and just bid him goodbye. He made his way towards the door, glanced around, and then went back near the table. He reached for a gadget that looked like a TV remote control and pushed a button. The conference room windows immediately turned opaque, shielding the room from the cubicles and office workers outside. He then left without a word.

Left in the sudden privacy of the room, Julian bowed his head into his hands and knew what he had to do to make it right.

“
G
et yourself dressed
. We’re going out.”

It was the first time in a month Julian had spoken to Imogen directly since the miscarriage. She had avoided him just as she was sure he had avoided her. He had just arrived from the office, still wearing his jacket, his tie loosened. He loomed by the doorway to her room.

“I don’t feel like it,” she said flatly, holding her sketchbook protectively close to her middle.

“I really don’t care what you think,” he bit out. “I’m sick of you moping around the house wandering like a ghost. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“What do you care?” She felt mean and petty and she wanted to stay in that dark, mean, and petty corner and never come out. In fact, she wanted to drag him into her dark, little corner. Make him feel how angry and devastated she felt.

“You can blame me all you want, Imogen, but it’s not going to change anything.” His eyes were bleak. “
We
lost
a
baby. You’re not the only one who’s allowed to grieve.”

The doctor had said there was nothing that could have been done to stop what had been inevitable. In her mind she knew this. But in her heart, it was a different matter.

If only she hadn’t stressed herself out on that waitressing job.

If only she had remained in bed and followed her doctor’s orders to the letter, then she wouldn’t have stepped on that bottle.

If only he had taken her in his arms while she had sobbed her heart out those first few days after losing the baby. Or during those days when she walked like the living dead around the house, only her drawings managing to anchor her to reality.

But he had left her to deal with it alone. Keeping his distance, holing himself up in his blasted study whenever he was back from his innumerable trips.

Once she had overheard Mrs. Nero talking to him on the phone, reporting to him. “Yes, she has eaten. No, she hasn’t come out of her room.”

He couldn’t even be bothered to talk to her himself?

Oh
, she thought on a silent cry of pain,
if only you had loved me.

“We can’t go on like this.” He stepped inside her room and stopped by the edge of her bed. “I can’t go on like this. Seeing you everyday−” he broke off raggedly.

It wasn’t part of the deal. Having a wife who fell apart at the first sign of difficulty. It wasn’t part of the bargain. Julian hated messy, emotional drama. He was above it, and how she hated him for it.

Julian took a deep breath, then he said briskly, “We’ll get a divorce as soon as it can be arranged.”

A divorce?
she thought numbly. Of course. Now that the baby was gone, there was no reason for them to remain married.

“I’ll move out of the penthouse. You can stay here as long as you like.”

Just continue to play numb. You can shatter later, when the anesthetic wears off.
“I’ll leave tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow?” he glowered. “No fucking way. Not in your condition.”

“My
condition
?” she bristled.
Shit.
The numbness was wearing off quickly. “I’m depressed, Julian, not disabled.”

He looked like someone had punched him in the gut. He reached out to touch her but she roused herself jerkily off the bed to avoid him, scattering her loose sketches to the floor.

“I’ll get over it,” she declared stoutly, more for her own benefit.
And I’ll get over you, even if it kills me.

He glanced at her helplessly for a few seconds, then his eyes swung to the floor and froze on a single sheet of paper. He stooped and snatched it up, studying the drawing.

Imogen’s eyes shot to his face, which had gone deathly white. It was a sketch of a chubby-cheeked toddler on top of a Shetland pony. Standing next to them was Julian, his face in profile as he smiled down at the boy. He dropped the paper and strode out of her room wordlessly.

She found him in the darkened living room, seated by the couch, staring at the goldfish tank.

“You think our baby would have liked Clark?” He spoke without looking at her.

And Imogen suspected why. She crossed the distance to where he was. She knelt in front of him and brushed the wetness from his cheeks. His tears thawed and cracked the ice around her heart. She placed her head on his lap. “It would have been love at first sight,” she whispered with certainty.

He chuckled hoarsely, the sound a balm to her weary spirit. Imogen felt an answering smile tug at her lips. She felt him stroking her hair. It felt so good to be touched after so long. She lifted her head and her breath caught at the intensity in his green eyes, eyes that refused to look away. Julian was letting her peer through his soul, revealing the hurt he had been hiding all along.

“I’m tired of fighting it, Genie. Let me hold you tonight. Please.” His voice was raw.

As if he needed to ask. She had been his all along. She climbed on his lap, rested her head against his chest, and sighed like a mountaineer who had reached the summit. She lifted her face to his, like a sunflower seeking the sun. He claimed her mouth, searing her with the heat of his kiss.

It wasn’t enough. She wanted to feel the heat of his skin all over her, wanted his warmth to seek out all the dark and cold places in her and banish them.

She frowned at all the buttons on his shirt she had to open, her nervousness making her all fingers. “Drat! Oh, why couldn’t you be shirtless now?” she joked, trying to make light of her nervousness, her need and desire for this man.

He didn’t smile but just gazed at her gravely, his eyes roaming all over her face, as if seeing her for the first time. She worked on freeing his buttons, all the time aware of the growing bulge between her legs as she straddled him. And her answering wetness.

She grumbled as she had to undo a cuff button. And another. Finally! She tossed his Egyptian cotton shirt over her shoulder, uncaring of the thread count, and splayed her hands on his hard, broad chest. His skin under her palms were warm and smooth and wonderful. She couldn’t help it. She rested her cheek against the inviting expanse of muscle and flesh. She heard the furious pounding of his heart, an echo of her own. It was the only sound in the living room. To her, it was the sound of home.

They remained still for several minutes, reacquainting themselves with the feel of their bodies pressed close together. His hands remained tangled in her hair. Imogen took the lead. It was a simple matter of turning her head and closing her lips on a nipple in her mouth. He groaned, his grip on her hair tightening a fraction.

“Genie,” he murmured over and over as she sought to please him. This she could give him, and he would take it until he was out of his mind with pleasure.

He lifted her off him and speared her with a heavy-lidded gaze. “Not in front of poor Clark.”

They made their way to his bedroom, leaving a Hansel and Gretel trail of divested clothing.

She fell on her back on the bed. Julian grasped her legs and pulled her to the edge, splaying her legs wide. She gasped as he entered her with one hard thrust. He gave her a few seconds to accommodate his size, but she was impatient and greedy and she bucked her hips as a signal. He grabbed her inner thighs, spread her wider, and moved.

Oh. My. Goodness.

“Say it, Genie,” he said in a guttural tone as he pounded deep into her, his eyes never leaving his.

Her eyelids fluttered closed, shielding herself from the naked hunger in his gaze. But it was a mistake because without her sense of vision, every stimulus became heightened. She felt keenly the delicious slide and friction of his hard shaft in her slick depths, heard the wet slapping sounds of wet flesh against flesh, and smelled the earthy scent of sex.

“Say it,” he commanded, his fingers flicking her hard, swollen nub, drawing out her capitulation.

His cock and fingers were a relentless tandem. Oh God, she was so close. She clutched the sheets, hanging on for dear life as he demanded her surrender. Her very soul.

“I love you,” she cried as her back arched off the bed, spasms rocking her body. “I love you,” she gasped repeatedly as Julian drove like a man possessed into her still trembling body, until she saw his face contort in the pain and pleasure of his release. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear as he lay collapsed on top of her, his heavy weight the only thing anchoring her heart inside her body.

“
A
divorce
?” Maggie thunked the cup of tea on the only available space in her cluttered apartment, the armrest of a faded couch on which a pashmina shawl was draped.

Imogen gulped the hot liquid gratefully, wincing as her bottom hit an unidentified but hard object on the cushion. After depositing the teacup on the armrest, she pulled it out to see a wooden, primitive wind instrument.

Maggie grabbed it. “I’ve been looking everywhere for this!” She deposited it in a pile of curios inside a box under the coffee table. “How’s everything going?” She had just arrived from a symposium in New York. She hadn’t been around when she had the miscarriage, for which Imogen had been grateful. It would have been worse if Maggie knew what had transpired between her brothers before she lost the baby, and Imogen didn’t need Maggie adding to the strain amongst all of them. “Has Julian knocked you up again?”

Really, her best friend was such an epitome of sensitivity. Imogen was now regretting running to her sister-in-law about her marital troubles but after waking up alone, in Julian’s bed, she had felt adrift, uncertain. And angry.

Angry at him for leaving her alone again.

She had woken up rather late, at half past nine, but still he could have left a note or something. She winced. Well, maybe not a note after what happened the last time. An SMS perhaps?

Maybe he was regretting having pity sex with her last night and was now expecting her to be all clingy and needy the morning after?

“Julian and I are getting a divorce.” She tightened the scarf she was wearing around her neck. Maggie had the eyes of a hawk and last night’s rather vigorous, okay, mind-blowing sex had left some marks a pre-divorcee like her, she thought with a pang, would have trouble explaining.

There. She had said it.

“Are you crazy?” Maggie cried, regarding her like an escaped lunatic. “Walkdens do not get divorced. Ever,” she said emphatically. “Well, at least the dukes and their wives don’t.”

At Imogen’s confused frown, she continued. “The entire Walkden estate is entailed to the Dukedom. To prevent disgruntled ex-wives and squabbling half-brothers and sisters laying claim and splitting the estate, the duke can never get divorced. If he does, the estate passes down to the next heir presumptive.”

“In the case of my father re-marrying after our mother died, the estate has provided a lifetime allowance for me, my stepmother, and Gray, provided we report to Julian or the lawyers every few months or so. Didn’t Julian or his lawyers explain it to you?”

They didn’t have time for lawyers or a pre-nup, not before that quickie wedding in Las Vegas. But if Julian divorcing her meant losing Trennery Court…

She jerked out of the couch, almost upending the tea cup. “I have to go.”

“Right now?”

Imogen frowned as she tried to navigate around a stack of books on the floor, a pile of manuscripts, and a fierce-looking carved deity with six breasts who was blocking the path to her happiness.

“Easy there!” Maggie protested as she grasped the deity by the waist and plonked it somewhere there was space. Which was on the ratty couch armrest.

Imogen yanked the door open, her heart thundering in her chest. “I have a marriage to save.”

Maggie rolled her eyes as she bounded after her down the stairs. “About time!”

Imogen’s heart was pounding as she raced to the vehicle that was waiting for her, Maggie’s admonition ringing in her ears. Maybe Maggie wasn’t as clueless about what was happening between her and Julian.

There was a nip in the air. Some doors had Christmas decors already displayed.

“Hey!” Maggie called out, and her voice was so loud Imogen feared she would have neighbors poking their heads out of their windows. She paused to look back at her sister-in-law, who was wearing a sly expression on her face. “Right here.” She pointed to a spot under her jaw. “You missed a hickey.”

Imogen’s cheeks were on fire as she pulled the scarf higher up her neck. She caught the small grin on Lopez’s face as he opened the door and she slid inside the vehicle.

“Where to, ma’am?” Lopez asked politely.

Lopez’s grin grew wider when she said her destination.

T
here was a bloody spring
,
spring!,
to his step as he walked out of the elevator, past the long corridor and office cubicles, and started making his way to the conference room. He couldn’t help it. He felt jaunty and smug as hell. A night of incredible sex with the woman you
cared for
and who, amazingly, despite his emotional constipation, still loved you back gave him license to act loopy.

Plus the deep quality sleep (they didn’t get enough) he had last night had restored him. Granted, he had fallen asleep before he had been able to announce that no way in hell was a divorce ever going to take place, but he was sure after last night, Imogen had to realize that they belonged
together
.
If she didn’t, he would show her again later. Repeatedly. Thoroughly.

After this blasted morning meeting he couldn’t miss.

An employee muttered a polite good morning and he smiled back lazily, the kind that on a lion meant he had just had a very satisfactory meal. The poor woman looked taken aback and scurried off.

He entered the conference room where all the other partners were already present. He gave a perfunctory greeting and took his seat at the end of the table, the first one by the door.

Lukas, beside him, glanced at him oddly for a brief moment then glanced away as the meeting commenced.

T
he secretary’s
startled gaze met her as she burst into Julian’s office.

“Hello. I’d like to see my husband please.”

Now that she was in Creatus Ventures’ headquarters, Imogen felt serious misgivings. What had she been thinking charging into his workplace and demanding…demanding what? His declaration of undying love?

“He’s in the conference room, ma’am, but−”

She tore out of his office, embarrassed at her impulsivity. She gripped her satchel bag and ducked her head low, hoping no one would recognize her face.

Where was the elevator? Drat her poor sense of direction. She took a turn down the long line of cubicles, grateful no one was paying her attention.

And reached a dead end.

With horror, Imogen realized she had arrived in front of the conference room. It said so on the metal signage on the door.

She backtracked, but some compulsion made her want to peek inside. Her legs were already driving her towards the glass door at the other end of the room before she could analyze the wisdom of what she was about to do.

Just a quick pass, Imogen, and make it casual
. She reached the glass door, took a quick glance, and was ensnared by celadon green eyes.

Shit!

Beside him was Lukas Martin. Who was grinning. And rising from his chair.

Double shit.

“Hi Imogen. Or shall I call you Your Grace now?” the young doctor teased as he poked his head out of the conference room. He was blocking her view of Julian.

“Errm−I was just passing through,” she fabricated lamely.

Lukas motioned her to come inside.

“Oh no, no!” she protested in a low, frantic voice. Heads from the cubicles were popping out to see what the commotion was about. “Please, don’t let me interrupt the meeting.”

But Lukas was not easily deterred. He clamped a hand on her arm and hauled her inside where several faces stared at her in a mixture of curiosity and avid interest.

“Er−hello.” She waved timidly.

“We were just wrapping up the meeting, weren’t we, guys?” Lukas said in an overly jovial voice. The room was dim and the big projector screen was turned on. The words “Business Proposal – Introduction” was displayed.

Clearly not the end of the meeting yet.

There was a beat of silence, someone coughed, and then several voices spoke at once. “Yeah. Yeah. See you next week.” Laptop lids were closed, chairs scraped back, coats were picked up.

Imogen refused to look at Julian as they all filed past her on their way out to the door, murmuring goodbyes and nice to meet yous. She was dying from mortification.

Lukas was the last one to leave, and he winked playfully at Imogen before closing the door.

Leaving her alone with Julian and an awkward, strained kind of silence.

“Aren’t you even going to look at me? After you disrupted our meeting?”

He stepped right in front of her. She lifted her eyes past his hunter green tie, his broad shoulders, right to his sensuous lips, his Roman nose, and up to those amused, downward tilted, sexy eyes.

He had his hands hooked in his trouser pockets, regarding her languidly, his eyes flicking to her lips and resting there longer than was necessary.

She felt them tingling in response. Discomfited, she opened her mouth and said, “Why do you want a divorce?”

The lazy smile vanished. “There will be no divorce.”

“There won’t?”

Straight golden brows drew together.

“But you said−”

“That was before−before I knew how you still felt about me.” His voice roughened. “Even after losing the baby.” A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“Oh.” She shifted on her feet. This was it, then. She decided to go all-in with her cards. “And how do you feel about me now, Julian?”

She had to know. Needed to hear him say it.

The green eyes flicked away. “I care for you, Genie.”

“Care for me?” Imogen forced a laugh, hitting the right note of amusement and disbelief. She shook her head. ”You were willing to give up your title and Trennery Court for someone you just
cared
about?” she scoffed. “Say it, Julian.”

He raked a hand through his hair, looking tormented.

“Say it, please,” she pleaded rawly.

He swallowed convulsively, his shoulders taut with tension. “I was willing to let you go so you could have your shot at happiness with someone who deserved you. Even if it killed me in the process.”

Her eyes filled with tears. If that wasn’t love, Imogen didn’t know what was. To hell with making him say it. She didn’t need the words anymore. Her heart had already heard them.

She walked into his open arms and would have bawled right into his chest if her spectacles hadn’t gotten in the way. Julian whipped them off and it clattered onto the table. She laid her cheek against his chest. The chest Julian felt would explode if he tried to contain the words he longed to say.

I love you, Mother.
But the very next day she left him.

I love you, Chelsea.
But she had left just the same.

If Imogen left, he would be destroyed.

He heard her sniffing and felt her tears soaking through his shirt, penetrating his heart. Cold sweat broke out on his skin.

Non metuam

Imogen didn’t deserve a coward. He wouldn’t, couldn’t be with her while he was chained by all his old fears.

With love comes courage.

I shall not fear.

With a deep breath, he let them all go. “I love you, Genie.”

He felt her still suddenly. Her sniffing stopped. “I’m scared out of my bloody mind but hell yeah,” he sighed, resigned, humbled, and at peace all at once, “I love you.”

She squirmed out of his grasp and tilted her head to gaze at him. “I need further convincing, Your Grace,” she said in a stern voice, but her eyes were shimmering with tears.

Ah, Genie. You don’t know what you’re in for.
He swooped down and claimed her lips for a kiss. Apparently Imogen Adams-Chudley Walkden was easy to convince. He was lowering her down on the table minutes later, her legs around his waist, when she yelped as her elbow hit something hard.

“I think it’s your mobile,” she murmured, yanking his head up by his hair to get his attention. “I think I must have pressed it when I hit it. It’s beeping.”

“My mobile?” he grumbled, grudgingly looking down at the gadget Imogen had slapped against his now-naked chest.

It was the control for the smart glass partition.

Imogen shrieked and scrambled off the desk, pushing Julian off her. He looked around quickly, trying to find the source of her distress. And found several shocked pairs of eyes looking at them.

The once-opaque glass window had turned transparent.

Julian quickly pressed the control to turn the window back to opaque, but not before he caught a glimpse of a grinning Lukas.

“Oh my God. Oh my God.” Imogen was hurriedly buttoning her blouse and setting her appearance to rights. She looked disheveled, thoroughly kissed and sexy.

Julian just looked his fill, grinning at his panicking wife and uncaring that he was half-naked.

She felt his eyes on her and glanced up. She pressed her hands to her pink cheeks and moaned, “Can the floor open up and swallow me now?” And then she giggled nervously and Julian couldn’t help laughing right along with her.

Several minutes later, dressed and decent, they emerged hand in hand from the conference room.

All the buzzing stopped.

As if nothing untoward had happened, Julian faced his employees. “Friends,” he said in a quiet but carrying voice, “I’d like you all to meet my wife, Imogen Walkden, the Duchess of Blackmoore.”

He pulled her to him and in front of God and everyone, kissed her soundly on the lips. “I love you,” he said, loud enough for people close to them to hear.

“I know,” she replied, and he smiled.