Duchess in Love (13 page)

A
summer rain shower began just as Gina and Sebastian walked out the wide doors of the Long Salon. They watched for a moment as water splattered the terrace into dark gray and made fat red roses tremble with tiny blows. Gina took a deep, unsteady breath and tried to calm herself. Logic was what was needed here.

Sebastian shifted his weight from leg to leg. “It's come to rain,” he said.

He's not sure of me, Gina thought. He knows I almost left him. “I still want to marry you,” she said, diving straight to the point. Although to be honest, she wasn't quite certain of the truth of that statement.

She felt a tiny jerk in the arm she held, a small instinctive reaction. “That is,” she added, “if you want me to.”

“Of course I do,” he answered rather roughly, and without his usual sangfroid.

Chattering voices approached from behind. They moved to allow a cluster of damsels in diaphanous gowns to peer at the plump drops falling to the ground.

“Isn't that a
shame
?” one of the girls cried. “It's all wet!” They all laughed and retreated quickly back into the warmth
of the room, with just a curious glance or two at the Duchess of Girton and her companion.

Gina heard one clear voice, louder than her owner meant it to be. “She's not
so
old, Augusta. I don't believe she's yet twenty-five…”

“Would you like to go for a walk?” she asked, looking up at Sebastian.

He frowned. “You would take a chill, dressed as you are.”

“Oh no, the air is warm. I promise you, I never take a chill. Why, I believe I haven't been sick a day since I was a child.”

He was looking at her with a speculative concern that made her bristle inside. “It's
raining,
Your Grace,” and then, catching her eyes, he corrected himself. “Gina.”

She opened her mouth but he wasn't done yet. “We do not go outdoors in the rain.” He said it slowly, with attention to each word.

Gina felt such a fillip of rage in her chest that she almost slapped the man. He stood there in the glow of torches lighting up the wet terrace, so rigid, so—
poker-faced,
came an unwelcome memory of Cam's remark.

He saw something of her thoughts in her face because he held out a hand to the sky. There on his hand were two, or perhaps even three, silvery raindrops. “It will destroy your gown,” he said. “Water stains silk.”

She sighed and gave up the idea. “I should retire for the night. Would you accompany me to the library, Sebastian? I left
Much Ado About Nothing
there.”

He turned readily enough and offered his arm. They walked to the library without saying another word. Gina was trying her best to think logically, a difficult task when one felt like bellowing one's anger to the skies.

She wanted to marry Sebastian. She
did
. He was calm and steady. He had stood at her side, offering welcome advice in
the difficult years when she was a young married woman without a husband. He would be a responsible, loving husband and father. And he was handsome too, a pleasure to look at. Of course she wanted to marry him.

It was simply that he was so rigid in his morality. So absurd in his insistence that she reject her mother's gift. Perhaps it's a good thing that Countess Ligny died before I married Sebastian, she thought, remembering the letters she had hopefully written and sent to France. None of them were ever answered. But she had kept writing, up until the day Rounton informed her of the countess's death.

“Do you truly wish me to reject the gift from Countess Ligny?” she asked.

They were in the library now. The fire had burned down. He picked up a poker and struck at the blackened logs. “Disgraceful. Lady Troubridge's servants are taking advantage of her, most certainly due to her widowed status.”

“Sebastian?”

He leaned the poker back against the fireplace brick and turned about. “I think it would be best.” But his eyes were troubled. “Yet she
was
your mother, Gina. And she is dead. Perhaps there is no harm in accepting her final gift.”

She breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said, the two words tripping over each other.

“I am disappointed by your husband's readiness to discuss such a subject in public.” Sebastian's face had a look of disdain, almost of contempt. “He seemed to have no concern for the extreme delicacy of the situation.”

“Cam has always been at loggerheads with propriety,” Gina explained. “His father was rigidly observant.”

He nodded. “From everything I know, the duke acted precisely as he ought in every situation.”

Gina drifted over to him and lifted her hands to rest
lightly on the front of his black evening coat. “And you, Sebastian? Do you always act precisely as you ought?”

He stared down at her as if she'd asked him an obscenity. The half-born, half-acknowledged hope that she had kept with her all evening flickered and died. She let her hands slide from his chest.

“Gina, are you feeling all right?” he asked, finally. There was nothing but kindness and affection in his eyes.

“I believe so.”

“Ever since your husband has returned, you have not been yourself.”

“Cam only arrived yesterday.”

He nodded. “And you've not been yourself: the Gina I know.”
And love
hung in the air between them.

“You mean that I have tried to make you kiss me,” she said in a high, clear voice that masked the tears crowding the back of her throat. “But I also tried to tempt you into unsightly behavior at the picnic, before Cam arrived, if you remember. That's what you called it—unsightly behavior.”

He hesitated and looked quickly over her shoulder.

“We're quite alone,” she said with a touch of scorn in her voice. “There's no reason to worry about your reputation.”

“I worry about
your
reputation, Gina.” What she saw in his eyes was disarming, and made her rage drain away.

“Your reputation is fragile, being a married woman. I would hate to see you punished by society for your husband's childish lack of consideration.”

“Is that what you think of Cam?” she asked, startled.

“As does every right-thinking gentleman. The man's an irresponsible cad, leaving you here for years at the mercy of every rakehell who strayed across you. If you weren't such an inherently virtuous woman, there's no telling what might have happened to you, living without a husband's guidance.”

“I had no need of male guidance!” she flashed back.

“I agree,” he said, blue eyes meeting hers steadily. “You are a most unusual woman. Truly. Many of the young women of the
ton
never had the untouched, innocent air you have, even when they debuted. They would have fallen into some man's bed long before now. Just look at Lady Rawlings.”

The last thing Gina wanted was to get into another argument on that subject. “Esme's situation is entirely—”

But Sebastian jumped in. “I blame Rawlings. If rumors are true, he deserted her bed within a month. He stands responsible for leaving a beautiful young woman to the mercies of fribbles like Bernie Burdett.”

“I'm not certain this is an appropriate subject,” Gina said. Sebastian's eyes were flashing and he was showing a good deal more passion than she'd ever seen from him.

“Rawlings should be
hanged,
” he snarled. Then he seemed to remember where he was and turned back to Gina.

“Only a woman with your extraordinary chastity could have preserved her virtue intact.”

Gina sighed. At least she had a clearer understanding of why Sebastian repudiated her every effort to further their intimacy.

“That's why it doesn't overly concern me,” and he lowered his voice, “that your mother was unmarried. And why I pay no mind to foolish rumors about your tutor. As a true gentlewoman, you are untouched by the low and dissolute emotions that rule so many women these days. I shall be proud to make you my marchioness.”

“I have no extraordinary virtue,” Gina said. “I simply never wished to be akin to my mother.”

“I should think not,” Sebastian huffed.

She touched his sleeve. “But do you love
me,
Sebastian? Do you love me, or just the idea of me?”

He stared down at her. “Of course I love you. Haven't I al
ways said so?” Then his eyes brightened. “Is that the problem? You've been worrying that I don't love you? Well, I
do
.” He beamed at her as if he'd handed her the moon and the stars.

Then he took her arm. “There!” he said. “Now we can be comfortable again.”

Gina walked up the stairs without another word. Lord Bonnington clearly felt all the relief of a soldier released from battle; he talked merrily of plans for the next day. They stopped at her chamber door. He bowed and kissed her gloved hand.

She tried to smile and failed, but he didn't seem to notice.

“I feel the better for this little discussion,” he said. “You must forgive me for my lack of comprehension. I had forgotten how emotional and high-strung ladies are. I will be careful to ensure that my feelings for you are absolutely clear, so that you need not embarrass yourself in the future.”

And Gina, handed neatly in the door of her bedchamber, had no doubt but that he would do just that. Likely he would dutifully inform his wife that he loved her, each and every morning before breakfast, so as to preserve marital harmony. Because being married to such an
emotional
and
high-strung
woman was certain to be difficult.

She unbuttoned her glove and threw it on the bed. When the second glove stuck, she ripped it off and tossed it next to its brother. A pearl button skipped and hopped across the floor, creating a counterpoint to the splatters of rain hitting the windows.

For a moment she thought about ringing for Annie. Yet she felt so
high-strung
at the moment that she might shriek at the poor girl simply from vexed nerves.

There was a push of emotion in her breast that made the thought of bed intolerable. She was engaged to a poker-faced marquess who did precisely as he ought, in every sit
uation. And he would continue to act precisely the same when they were married.

What had she been thinking? She walked to the windows and pushed back the heavy velvet drapes. That Sebastian would become affectionate once his ring was on her finger? She undid the latch. He
was
affectionate, she thought unwillingly. It was just that he wasn't…he wasn't passionate. Passion was the look she saw in Esme's eyes when she talked of Bernie's muscled arm. Passion was the way Esme's husband touched Lady Childe's cheek.

Yet she herself was to receive affection rather than passion, that was clear. Sebastian was responsible, level-headed—and he didn't desire her. They stood at her shoulders like a good and a bad angel: Desire and Responsibility, Cam and Sebastian.

I could court him, she thought suddenly. Carola is wooing Perwinkle; I could do the same. A pulse of excitement danced down her spine: to woo Cam of the dark eyes and strong hands. Woo him—to what? To bed her: certainly. To love her: doubtful. To live with her and raise children, and be duke to her duchess:
never
. Better to stay with Sebastian, and try to woo him into desire.

The garden breathed a dark and dreamy scent of rain-washed roses and black soil. The rain was splattering down in such a lazy, halfhearted way that the air had hardly cooled. She threw off her cashmere shawl as she stood in the window.

I believe I'd like to have my mother's present now, she thought after a moment. Of course she always meant to have it, no matter what her future husband said about it. The question was, how to find Cam?

Annie darted into the room before she had time to change her mind. “Good evening, my lady!” she said. “Are you wishing to retire for the night?”

“Not yet,” Gina replied. “I would like to visit my husband. Could you find out where his chamber is located?”

The maid's eyes widened slightly.

“We have some legal matters to discuss,” she told Annie.

“Of course, my lady. Would you like me to see whether His Grace is still downstairs? I think that most of the ladies and gentlemen have retired by now.” She trotted to the door. “If he's not downstairs, I'll ask Phillipos where he is.”

Gina looked an inquiry.

“Phillipos is his man,” she explained, an impish smile on her face. “He's Greek, and such a character! Quite the charmer,
he
thinks.”

Gina sat down in a chair and waited with ill-concealed patience for Annie's return. It had been hurtful to think that her mother had cared nothing for her, and didn't even leave her a note at her deathbed. But surely the present meant that Countess Ligny did care for her daughter. Perhaps she
had
read her letters. Perhaps she loved her…if only a little amount.

What I would most like is a letter, Gina thought. Or a portrait. A letter would be marvelous, she thought again. A personal letter, from my mother.

Annie reappeared. “His Grace retired for the night just a few minutes ago, madam. He's four doors down, on the left. Phillipos was already downstairs. Apparently His Grace never requires assistance preparing for bed.”

Gina raised an eyebrow, looking at her maid's pink cheeks. “I hope Phillipos did not charge a toll for this information?”

The young girl giggled. “A toll is a good way of putting it, madam.”

“I should be back in a matter of five minutes or so, Annie. You need not wait. I shall go directly to bed on my return.” She took a deep breath and left the room.

The long corridor was shadowy and lit only by wall
sconces at the far ends. Gina felt her heartbeat speed as she counted the doors. What if Annie had made a mistake and Cam's door was the third, rather than the fourth, from her own? Could there be any greater humiliation than knocking on the wrong door? Her reputation would be in shreds and tatters.