The Duke's Accidental Wife (Dukes of War Book 7) (7 page)

It had felt empty ever since.

He broke his fast alone. Lunched alone. Took tea alone. Dined alone. Sipped his port alone. And then began his day all over again.

All that, however, was about to change.

Probably.

He would not impose mealtime regulations upon a duchess. If Miss Ross wished to take her meals in the privacy of her bedchamber, he would not deny her.

No matter what he might have wished his marriage to be like.

Movement in the corridor caught his eye. He held his breath. His bride had arrived at last.

She was beautiful.

Her eyes were clear and bright. She wore a long, intricately beaded gown of pale blue silk. He had no idea if it had been commissioned for this purpose or if it was a gown she’d worn to hundreds of less-than-respectable soirées.

It didn’t matter, he reminded himself. From this moment on, she was his duchess. He would treat her with the respect she deserved. She was attractive and interesting. They would get to know each other eventually. It would be fine. He would
make
their marriage succeed.

His bride’s long blond hair was twisted into some sort of complicated French style, with a plethora of pearl combs holding up all but a few artful ringlets.

That
was new. Her hair had been arranged much more casually the night of Amelia’s dinner party, and even during the night of the charity gala. Which meant, regardless of its provenance, she was viewing their union with at least some degree of interest. Perhaps she, too, wondered what might have happened if her aunt had not interrupted them in the storage room.

Arm in arm, Mrs. Havens walked her niece all the way to the clergyman, her strut pleased as a peacock.

“Kate is going to be a duchess,” she whispered to Ravenwood when they reached the altar.

“So I heard,” he replied, careful not to betray his startlement at the proclamation. “I may even be the duke in question.”

“I hope so. You’re a handsome one.” Mrs. Havens gave him a coquettish wink.

Ravenwood bowed.

Miss Ross led her aunt to the row of chairs and settled her in the closest seat. When she resumed her place at the altar, she tossed Ravenwood a merry grin. “At least she has good taste. You
are
a handsome one.”

The back of Ravenwood’s neck heated, but he couldn’t look away. Not when she continued to surprise him at every turn.

She didn’t want to marry him.
Neither
of them wished to be in the position in which they now found themselves. They were all wrong for each other.

And yet…she looked as relaxed and comfortable as she had the night of the charity gala, when she’d stepped onstage to announce the items for auction.

Ravenwood couldn’t think of anything worse than taking the stage before hundreds of people. Except perhaps being forced to marry one of them against one’s will. So why was she so relaxed about the ceremony taking place? Had the allure of a dukedom trumped her disdain for the duke himself?

“You look happy,” he growled, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice.

If anything, the unspoken accusation made her smile even brighter.

“Of course I’m not
happy
,” she murmured, giving him a pointed gaze. “Neither are you. Yet there’s nothing to be done but make the best of the situation. The fact that it’s not a love match also appears to have slipped Aunt Havens’ mind, so if you could bear a few smiles of your own…”

He jerked his gaze toward Mrs. Havens, who waved at him with such spontaneous delight that he could not help but smile back.

“Perfect,” his bride whispered. “Thank you for playing along.”

He froze. He’d actually smiled and meant it. For a brief moment, he’d forgotten his list of extremely valid concerns, and simply let himself be happy.

And it had worked.

The tightness in his chest began to lighten. Perhaps there was hope for this union after all. If they both
tried
to be happy with the other, if they both playacted convincingly enough, it might actually come true.

Hope entered his heart. What if they could coexist without clashing, starting this very night? He’d show her that doing one’s duty needn’t be a joyless affair. With a little luck, their marriage might succeed on a deeper level.

Perhaps someday they’d even have the large, happy family he’d always dreamed of.

Chapter Seven

Kate was fully prepared for her wedding night. She had never been kissed, but tipsy confessions from her rowdier friends had left her well aware of the mechanics of lovemaking.

At her request, they’d also gifted her a handful of “French letters”—little fitted sheaths meant to prevent the man’s seed from entering the woman’s body. Unfortunately, the dratted things had to soak for hours before they became soft enough to be used.

With her horror of child-birthing, however, Kate would happily wait for days, if that was how long it took the French letters to be usable. Months. Years.

Perhaps she wasn’t just terrified of childbirth. Perhaps she was a tiny bit apprehensive about the creation process, as well. Who would wish to bare herself to a virtual stranger?

Even if the stranger in question was the dreadfully attractive Duke of Ravenwood. Her husband. Kate swallowed. She was now the Duchess of Ravenwood.

She didn’t feel like the Duchess of Ravenwood. She felt like an outsider playacting at someone else’s life. A world she knew nothing about.

Now that it was hers, however, she would do her best to play her role. They might not have chosen each other, but now that they were married, the only path toward happiness was to move forward together.

Somehow.

Arms crossed, she leaned against the freshly constructed armoire and stared at her new bedchamber.

It was sumptuous enough for a duchess, she supposed. The furniture, the wallpaper, the carpet—everything was new and expensive and modern. A style she abhorred above all others. It had no
history
. No story to tell.

The bed was twice the size of the one she’d had at home. For obvious reasons, one might suppose, except that the chamber Ravenwood had given Aunt Havens was nearly the equal to this one in terms of size, splendor, and excess.

The doorway leading into her husband’s adjoining bedchamber was of far more pressing concern.

Her lady’s maid had finished preparing the scene less than an hour ago. Candles were lit, a low blaze set in the fireplace. Kate was bathed, coiffed, and dressed in the frilliest nightrail of her trousseau.

Did Ravenwood appreciate a damsel in a frilly nightrail? Kate had her doubts. But her lady’s maid had insisted Ravenwood would only notice the nightrail’s most important features—its breathtakingly low neckline and near-transparent material.

Lord only knew what Ravenwood would be wearing. The last man Kate had seen in a nightrail had been Great-Uncle Havens, shortly before he died of apoplexy.

It wasn’t a particularly heartening image.

She tried to distract herself by planning her next project. Time would tell whether she would be
permitted
to continue planning events, but for now she would choose optimism. She was the one person with the passion and the connections to unite spectators of the arts with those who created it, and she would do everything in her power to make it happen.

The first step would be to rally the talent. She wouldn’t be able to search for a venue until she better understood the scope of the performance. Opera singers and classic violinists would not require a large stage, but what about dancers, acrobats, choirs, and orchestras?

A knock sounded upon the adjoining door and she jumped. Heaven help her. It was time.

She stepped away from the armoire and uncrossed her arms. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as she feared. Perhaps she could simply continue planning in her mind whilst Ravenwood did as he pleased with her body. Her heart quickened.

No. She would never be able to ignore him. Every time he was near, she could think of nothing but him.

“Come in.” Did her voice tremble? She straightened her spine. Her voice never trembled.

The adjoining door eased open with nary a creak. Orange light from the candles spilled across Ravenwood’s chiseled face. She swallowed.

He was not in a nightrail. He wore buckskin breeches, a navy waistcoat, gold jacket, and a freshly pressed cravat. His chestnut curls were slightly damp, indicating he, too, had bathed moments earlier.

He looked positively delicious.

Ravenwood’s eyes locked on hers. “You’re dressed for bed.”

“You’re…not.” She wasn’t certain what to make of it.

He inclined his head. “I didn’t want you to feel forced into physical intimacy. I am your husband, but you are my wife. Your desires matter as much as my own.”

Kate gazed back at him in surprise. If he’d meant to disarm her with his thoughtful consideration, it had certainly worked. He had a right to consummation. She had expected him to execute that right and be done.

The idea that she could have a reprieve if she wished gave her the courage to welcome him in. He was giving her a chance to be comfortable with him. She would do the same.

According to her friends, plenty could happen between husband and wife prior to lovemaking.

“Come in,” she repeated.

He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

She expected to feel closed off. Hunted. But instead she felt oddly powerful. The Duke of Ravenwood hadn’t merely asked her opinion. He’d asked her
permission
. To enter a bedchamber on his own property.

He was trying to be kind. He was letting her know that as duchess, her desires
did
matter.

Now that she knew she would not be forced into consummation without so much as a by-your-leave, what she most desired was…a kiss.

Ever since that moment in the storage shelter, she hadn’t been able to quit the idea from her mind. She swallowed. Perhaps she’d been looking forward to
some
of the night’s events, after all.

She lowered her gaze from his eyes to his mouth and blushed. Kissing him would be no hardship. Now that they were out of society’s eye, his icy demeanor had melted to something far more intriguing.

Or perhaps she was the one who had warmed.

This was how he looked to all the other ladies. Wide shoulders, firm muscles, long eyelashes, inviting lips. They swooned at the thought of being wrapped in those strong arms. Of unleashing coiled passion. Being the one woman capable of tempting him to fan the flames.

Kate swallowed. If she were completely honest, she might even admit to having wondered on multiple occasions what kissing Ravenwood might be like. Of feeling her soft curves against his hard body. Just because she had never imagined herself in the position of ever finding out did not mean she was immune to his striking looks and quiet power.

She didn’t have to suppress her attraction anymore. He was an Adonis come to life. She had him in her bedchamber. The question was how to proceed from here, without risking childbirth.

“We were compromised over a tryst that never happened,” she ventured.

He stepped closer. “Yes.”

“My cousin thought you had taken liberties. Kissed me.”

“All two hundred of your guests appeared to have reached the same conclusion.” His tone was wry. “A bit galling, as I’d never before had a tarnished reputation.”

She hesitated. “A bit galling for me as well, since to this day, I’ve never been kissed.”

His green eyes met hers in surprise. “Never?”

“I thought you might like to…rectify matters.” Her heart pounded as she waited for his reply.

With an arrogant smile, he curled a knuckle beneath her chin and angled her face toward his. “It shall be my pleasure.”

Her eyes fluttered closed as he lowered his mouth to hers.

He was going to do it! Finally, they would have the kiss they’d almost shared before they were interrupted. The kiss she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind. This time, there was no one to stop them.

His mouth was warm. His lips firm, but soft. She gripped his sides, unsure where or how to hold on. Each gentle brush of his lips against hers sent waves of sensation rippling across her skin.