Secrets Of The Marriage Bed
‘Good morning, Your Grace.’ She added a scoop of scrambled eggs to her plate.
Devil take it, he hated conversation before he’d had his first cup of tea. Why couldn’t she take a tray in her room like any other self-respecting noblewoman? Although come to think of it, none of the women he’d been around in the morning were at all self-respecting, or he would not have been there.
‘Good morning.’ At least that was what he intended to say. It came out sounding more like a grunt.
She took her place at the table adjacent to his normal seat. He marched across to the sideboard, loaded up his usual poached eggs and steak and set his plate down. He glanced at the newspaper which had been carefully ironed, folded and set beside his fork so he could glance at the headlines.
He gritted his teeth. Not today. One did not read at the table when one had female company. Even he remembered that from his youthful lessons in manners. His nursemaid, Digger, would be proud of him.
Maybe.
‘Tea?’ she asked.
He preferred to pour his own. ‘Thank you.’
She fixed two cups, added cream and sugar to one and passed it across. He took a sip. Perfect. Exactly how he liked it. How had she known? His temper improved leaps and bounds with each mouthful.
‘I see you plan on riding out?’ Hah! A whole sentence and perfectly polite.
‘I do. Your stable master, Mr Litton, introduced me to Bella earlier in the week and since it is such a fine morning, I thought to put her through her paces.’
He hadn’t known she liked to ride. He should have asked. ‘Hmmph.’
‘My riding out does not meet with your approval?’
Blast the woman, did she have to ask him questions? He took another sip of tea. For some stupid reason the morning seemed altogether brighter than it had when he arose from his bed.
‘I will ride with you. I always ride first thing in the morning.’ As she probably knew quite well. ‘There is no reason why we should ride out separately.’ No reason at all, except his confrères might think he had run mad. For years he’d mocked any man so smitten as to ride with ladies at so early an hour. Too dull by half. Yet he had a duty, did he not? To make sure she could handle Bella, as well as see to her safety? A mere groom would not take nearly enough care.
She raised a brow and looked at him speculatively over the rim of her teacup before taking a sip. She gave a little grimace of distaste.
‘Something wrong with the tea?’
‘Oolong is not a favourite with me.’
‘Tell the kitchen.’
‘I will.’ She put her cup down and glanced down at his untouched food. ‘I will be ready in say...half an hour.’ With him or without him being implied. On that note, she daintily consumed the remaining food on her plate and left the room.
After skimming the political headlines, checking on the arrival of a ship in which he had an interest while he demolished his breakfast, he headed out to the stables. Litton had both horses saddled and was saddling his own. Of Her Grace there was as yet no sign. He was a couple of minutes early and he hoped she would not keep him waiting too long.
He gave Bella’s tack a thorough inspection, before turning his attention to his own horse. Not that he expected his staff to do anything but an excellent job. ‘Her Grace will not be needing you today, Litton.’
The man’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Bella’s not been out under a lady’s saddle for months, Your Grace. She’ll need a close eye.’
A warning if ever Alistair heard one. It seemed Litton had decided to add his wife to the list of people he cared about. Up to now the list had only had one name on it. His own.
‘I’ll take care,’ Alistair said.
Litton’s glance flickered over Alistair’s shoulder, warning him that their topic of conversation had arrived.
Alistair turned to greet her. Her hat was a version of the one he wore, a black beaver, the crown not quite so tall, and adorned with a scrap of net and a peacock-feather cockade. Very stylish. Hopefully it wasn’t only for show and she rode just as well as she looked.
Julia had patted her mount’s neck, checked the girth and adjusted the stirrup with a confident hand before signalling her readiness to mount.
He bent, lacing his fingers together. She adjusted her habit, raising it a fraction, presenting him with a view of a beautifully cut riding boot and a smidgeon of pretty calf. His breath caught in his throat as he recalled the last time he’d had his hands on that calf. How silken her skin had been. How responsive her body to his touch. Once more his body hardened and he bit back a curse at the discomfort. She stepped into his palms and he boosted her into the saddle.
Bella, who up to that moment had been a perfect lady, shifted uneasily.
Alistair’s heart gave a thump. He reached for the bridle, then snatched his hand back as Julia expertly brought the animal under control. She patted Bella’s neck. ‘Easy, girl. You know me. We have had several conversations these past few days.’ The mare settled under her soothing hand and quiet words.
That. He wanted that, her hands on him, soothing, stroking, gentling and perhaps even—He cut the thought off.
Self-disgust at this rare lack of restraint rose in his throat. He forced it down where it belonged—with the shame of his past. He reached for Thor’s reins, while she continued to pat Bella’s neck.
He quelled his body’s unruly response with effort and forced his mind to the task at hand. It seemed his wife was an accomplished horsewoman. What else about her did he not know?
And why would he care?
He swung up on to his horse and they moved off. Outside in the square, Alistair brought Thor up alongside Bella. ‘We’ll go by way of Park Lane. It should be reasonably quiet at this time of the morning. Stay close.’
‘Lay on, MacDuff.’
He’d like to lay on her. The thought crept into his mind unbidden.
Damnation. More adolescent nonsense he could do without. More visions of temptation. He shifted in the saddle.
Chapter Two
While her husband might not have been thrilled at having her along on his morning ride, at least he had accepted her presence with a modicum of graciousness. She’d half expected him to refuse to allow her to go at all. Her first husband had refused her anything that might give her pleasure. In his eyes, she hadn’t deserved it.
The day was perfect for riding. A slight breeze, a few puffy clouds and not too much heat. With years having passed since she’d been on horseback, she intended to make the most of every moment.
‘What do you think of Bella?’ the Duke asked and, to her surprise, he seemed genuinely interested in her answer.
‘Lovely mouth. Beautifully responsive. A perfect lady.’
He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like I meant the horse. Surely not? She glanced over at him and his expression remained a blank slate. Unless that really was a fleeting twinkle warming his eyes. Was it possible?
‘I beg your pardon, I did not quite hear what you said.’
His lips twisted. ‘I’m glad. She’s not been getting out much recently.’
Was he glad she hadn’t heard what he said? Or glad that she liked her mount? Not wanting to risk spoiling the accord between them, she decided to let the matter drop.
His horse, Thor, was a huge black gelding with four white feet. A big horse for a big man, whereas Bella was definitely a lady’s mount. For which lady? She tried to ignore the pang to her heart at the thought of the kind of ladies who must have ridden this horse with him in the past, for there was no mistaking that the animal seemed used to riding alongside Thor.
‘Are Bella and Thor always kept in town, or do they go with you to the country?’
‘It depends where I go.’
Hardly forthcoming. She knew he had several country houses scattered around England and visited them once each year in strict rotation, according the housekeeper. Julia had questioned the woman closely the morning after her wedding. At the time, she’d supposed he would want his wife to entertain his friends and arrange his household. It had quickly come to her attention that he did not welcome her meddling in his bachelor arrangements.
Apart from their wedding ball, attended by every member of the ton, not once had he entertained in any formal way and his only forays from the house were to his man of business, his club and his morning ride. The last, the only activity where a wife might be welcome.
They passed through the gate into the park and the noise from the streets faded until one might imagine they were deep in the heart of the countryside. Julia took a deep breath. ‘What a beautiful morning to be sure.’
He frowned and looked around at the trees and the glitter of the Serpentine as if he had never seen it before. ‘Hmmph.’
‘I agree,’ she said.
He raised a brow questioningly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
‘I agree with your sentiment. While it is a good day, the weather being unusually bright and fine, it is too bad there is nowhere to give the horses a really good run.’ Oh, dear, the widening of his eyes said she had let her tendency for sarcasm run away with her. Something she had learned never to do with her previous husband. A couple of good hard slaps had cured the habit. Apparently, she had started to forget his lessons.
Having planned this morning as a way for her to get to know him better, to try to rekindle some of the liking he had shown her, even if he no longer felt passion, she had probably ruined it all by speaking out of turn.
Men did not appreciate being teased about their foibles, Dunstan’s being a marked lack of conversation. At least it was where she was concerned. Perhaps he was a veritable gabble-monger amongst his friends. She pretended nothing was amiss and fixed her gaze straight ahead down the length of Rotten Row.
Bella tossed her head as if asking for permission to do more than a sedate walk. In the distance a group of riders were cantering.
She clenched her jaw to stop herself from asking if they too could pick up their pace.
‘Let us see how she is at the trot, shall we?’ Alistair said.
When she glanced at him she was sure she saw a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, as if he was trying not to smile. Perhaps he had not been annoyed by her teasing after all.
Quite likely fearsome dukes weren’t accustomed to teasing. It might do him good.
The horses moved easily into the trot and she was aware of her husband watching her with a critical eye. A comforting thought. This was the first time she had ridden Bella. She was glad he wanted to assure himself that she knew what she was doing.
He moved into an easy canter. Bella responded to the request to do likewise and they rode side by side. At the end of the Row, they drew to a halt. He glanced over at her. There was something in his expression she couldn’t quite fathom.
‘You have a good seat.’
A compliment? Her spirits lifted. She arched a brow. ‘You already knew that.’ The naughty innuendo tripped off her tongue before she could catch it.
His eyes widened. And, as sudden as a bolt of lightning, a crack of laughter broke free from him. Delight lit up those grey eyes, turning them a sparkling silver. ‘Race you back.’
Her heart somersaulted in her chest at the sight of the tempting curve to his lips. She remembered the feel of kissing those lips. Then they had wed and he’d thrown up his barricade. For some mad reason she had the urge to kiss him again. Right now. Very shocking. While it certainly wouldn’t do for a married couple to be showing any signs of affection in public, she was absolutely ready to take up his challenge of a race. ‘Why not?’ She turned Bella around.
‘Go!’ she said. Bella responded without hesitation. She let the little mare have her head, aware all the time of the thunder of the larger horse behind them, catching up, and then they were neck and neck.
Julia risked a glance at her husband. There was grim determination on his face, but also a smile of pure pleasure she had only seen once before, in a small candlelit room in the brothel.
As if he sensed her gaze, he looked over, grinned and pulled ahead, the long-legged gelding stretching into a gallop, only to slow a few moments later.
She came up beside him. ‘Thank you.’
He raised a brow in question.
‘For not pretending and letting me win. It wouldn’t have been fair to Thor.’
Indeed, Thor was pawing and prancing, so very proud of himself. Alistair grinned at her. ‘I haven’t raced like that since—’ he shook his head ‘—I can’t remember when.’
‘Nor me.’
He glanced around them. ‘We should—’ A frown crashed down. ‘Damn.’
She followed the direction of his gaze to where two gentlemen were riding swiftly towards them.
‘Someone you know?’ she asked, holding Bella steady.
‘Perhaps.’
A calm, coldly spoken word. The wall was back up. Likely he was annoyed that people had witnessed their display of high spirits. Not that they had done anything too outrageous. Or perhaps it was the thought of introducing his wife to his friends.
Chilly fingers crawled down her spine. Might they have been at the brothel when she had shamelessly allowed herself to be auctioned?
She lifted her chin and pinned a teasing smile to her lips. ‘Shall we gallop vente à terre in the other direction?’
Once more a corner of his mouth twitched with the hint of a smile. ‘Now that really would be rude.’
Hope bubbled in her veins. Was the distance between them closing, this barrier meant for others and not for her? ‘Do we care? Being of the ducal sort?’
His eyes flashed amusement. ‘Behave, madam.’
Thrills chased through her stomach. He’d used that deep seductive growl the night they’d made love. Her insides softened, liquefied. Longing filled her. For him. For his touch. For the way he had made her feel. ‘I will behave if you will,’ she quipped. He had intended to arouse, she was sure of it. The man did nothing without purpose.
Yet as the men drew close, his expression cooled.
‘Duke,’ spoke a handsome fellow on a big grey who looked familiar.
‘Beauworth,’ her husband replied, helping Julia to make the connection. ‘You know my wife.’
Beauworth bowed, which was difficult to do with any elegance when astride a horse, although he made it look easy. ‘Good day, Your Grace.’
Julia inclined her head and smiled. ‘How do you do. We met at our ball.’
‘Kind of you to remember,’ the Marquess said.
Alistair had been icily cold that evening. She’d been terrified of doing something to put him to shame and had memorised the name of each person she’d met.
The younger man, clearly leaning towards dandyism with fair hair and plump apple cheeks, doffed his high-crowned hat. This was a man she had not met before, she was sure, yet he regarded her with a puzzled frown.
‘My cousin, Your Grace,’ the Duke said, his voice full of ennui. ‘Percy Hepple. He was not at our ball.’
None of his family had been at their ball.
The plump fellow, his shirt collar impossibly high and his coat straining at the seams, bent awkwardly in the middle. ‘Good day, Coz.’ He frowned. ‘Though may I say you look vaguely familiar? Must have seen you at somewhere around town.’
Julia’s blood turned to ice. Her only other public appearance had been on stage at Mrs B.’s auction. Fortunately, the fellow seemed to lose interest in her and almost at once turned back to Alistair.
‘Now I am in town again, Your Grace, I’ll look for you at your club. I’ve a mind to challenge you to a game of piquet and recover some of my losses.’
Her stomach sank. More reason for her husband to leave home and hearth every night. She kept a smile pinned to her lips and hoped her dismay did not show.
‘I doubt you can afford the stakes at my table,’ the Duke said, his voice arctic. Was he always so unfriendly?
An awkward silence fell, during which Beauworth gave each of them a distinctly piercing stare.
‘It is a beautiful day for a ride—’ she said.
‘I must be getting along—’ Hepple said at the same moment.
‘Yes,’ Beauworth said. ‘Run along, Hepple. Thank you for your company.’
Another awkward bow and Hepple rode off.
‘Do you go to Sackfield Hall any time soon?’ Beauworth asked, his gaze still on Hepple, his mouth curled in distaste.
‘I had planned to go in a couple of weeks,’ her husband said.
Julia swallowed a gasp. He had said nothing of this to her. Her glance shot to Alistair and he gave a slight shrug that told her nothing.
The Marquess smiled rather like a cat that had spotted a dish of cream. ‘You will bring your wife to visit us, Duke, or my Marchioness will want to know why.’
Julia waited, breath held, half expecting Alistair to say she would not be going with him.
‘Naturally,’ he said. ‘I will send a note when we are in residence.’
The Marquess nodded and turned to Julia. ‘We are no more than five miles from you as the crow flies and normally, we would ask permission to call on you, Your Grace, but with young children underfoot...you will forgive us for not venturing forth.’
‘Congratulations on your growing family,’ Julia said, a slight pang in her heart, envy for the Marchioness she had not yet met. It was unlikely she would ever conceive when she hadn’t after eight gruelling years of marriage. She ignored the feeling and crushed the tiny tendril of hope that a younger, more virile husband might succeed where an old man had not. The fact that her husband never came to her bed didn’t help, but the doctors had been adamant she was unsuited to conception.
The recollection of their harsh words made her chest squeeze, but she kept her composure. ‘I shall look forward to making your wife’s acquaintance.’
‘She will be thrilled to have someone nearby close to her own age. Up to now she has been surrounded by dowagers and ageing matrons. Now if you will excuse me, I have business requiring my attention before I head home.’ He gave her another elegant bow, nodded to Alistair and rode off.
Julia knew better than to carp at her husband for not telling her his plans to remove to the country. She knew now, after all.
‘About our removal to Sackfield Hall,’ she said. ‘Do you have a specific date in mind?’
‘Lewis will give you the details.’
Lewis, his amanuensis. Apparently it was his secretary’s job to inform her of His Grace’s wishes. She bit back a sharp retort. This morning had afforded a ray of hope for improvement in their relationship. It would be foolish to ruin it with words spoken in irritation. This fragile beginning needed careful nurturing. And time. ‘Very well, I will speak to Mr Lewis upon our return.’ She managed to say the words without gritting her teeth and felt proud of her forbearance.
As they turned their horses towards the gate, an unpleasant thought crept into her mind. Perhaps he had not intended that she would go with him and had been driven into a corner by Beauworth’s assumption.
A chill invaded her stomach. Had he planned to take someone else? A mistress, for example? ‘Was it your intention that I remain in town while you visited your estate in Hampshire?’
She regretted the words the moment she spoke them, but it was too late to call them back.
‘Did you want to remain in town?’
The tone of his voice said he didn’t care one way or the other. Dash it all. ‘A visit to the country would be pleasant at this time of year.’
He didn’t react.
They headed home, the silence between them becoming impenetrable. Every time she thought of something to say, she discarded it as being too bold, too weak sounding or just plain ridiculous. While the Duke had not shown himself to be the sort of man to strike his wife for impertinence, she did not want to make him angry.
Bah. Such cowardice. She did not know who she wanted to kick harder, herself or him.
They arrived back at the stables without having said one word.
* * *
Julia went in search of her husband’s secretary. As Duchess, she must have some duties to perform in regards to their removal from town. She also wished to know exactly where Sackfield Hall was located.
‘Ah, Grindle,’ she said, when the butler appeared in answer to her ring. ‘Where will I find Mr Lewis?’
‘In his lordship’s estate office, Your Grace.’
Another room in this monster of a town house she had never heard of. ‘And where will I find the office?’
‘Would you like me to take you there, Your Grace?’ He frowned. ‘His Grace is not at home at the moment.’
She knew that. He had set out on some errand or other; she’d seen him pass the drawing-room window. ‘Lead the way, please.’
Grindle bowed and set off.
Sometimes being a duchess had its advantages. People did not question your requests, never mind your orders, though she had noticed a faint wrinkle of concern in Grindle’s brow as he turned away. Apparently, His Grace not having left instructions to the contrary, he had decided there could not be any harm in showing her into the omnipotent presence of His Grace’s amanuensis.
Stop it, Julia. Sarcasm was unbecoming, even in the recesses of her own mind.
Mr Lewis was an important person in this household. It was to him Alistair referred when asked if he wished to attend this ball or that rout. And it was he who always sent Julia a note of regret, His Grace always, always having made some prior and far more important commitment.
It hadn’t taken Julia long to stop asking and to simply decline every invitation she received. Now she would meet Mr Lewis in person.
The estate office was located at the back of the house. The room was bright and inviting—cosy, despite the large desk on one side of the room facing a bank of French windows overlooking a small walled garden. The glazed double doors were open and a fresh breeze redolent with the scent of roses wafted in.
A young man rose from a smaller desk off to one side. His expression was that of astonishment.
‘Her Grace wished to see you, Mr Lewis.’ The butler swiftly withdrew.
The fair-haired, blue-eyed young man bowed. He was not a tall man, but he was handsome and as he straightened, he gave her a smile of such sweetness she warmed to him instantly.
‘Mr Lewis, I regret that His Grace has not had an opportunity to introduce us and I apologise for interrupting your work, but I understand you are to inform me about our move to the country in the next week or so.’ She decided attack was the best mode of defence.
Lewis came around from behind the desk. ‘I am?’ He gave a little cough. ‘I mean, yes, Your Grace, I am.’
Julia kept her face blank in light of the revelation that her husband had either neglected to inform his secretary in this regard, or had not intended that she be informed at all.
Her stomach dipped. She wandered over to the grand polished oak writing table where an ornate writing set of silver and cut glass occupied pride of place. A red leather-covered box with gold trim sat on one corner. The leather was beautifully tooled and engraved. Spanish, she thought. A work of art. A gift?
Julia dropped her gaze. She had no wish to pry, yet there was a little pang in her heart. The box was obviously something one would give to a woman. Surely Mr Lewis would not have looked quite so distraught if the gift had been one intended for her. There was no reason for Alistair to be giving her gifts. The bridal gift had been deposited on the night table beside her bed on the morning of her marriage, a set of sparkling diamonds, and her birthday was not until August.
‘What a lovely view,’ she said, turning towards the window.
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Mr Lewis said. ‘This was the room His Grace’s mother used as a private parlour.’
And His Grace spent many hours here during the day, before he went out in the evening in search of entertainment. She had met him during one of those quests, had she not?