How to Dance With a Duke (35 page)

She stared a moment at the glorious specimen before her, grateful for the rare opportunity to look upon him without fear of being observed. The crackle of the fire and her own breathing were the only sounds as they stood there. Together, but apart. Unsure of whether to announce herself, Cecily was about to speak up when she saw a shudder run through him, and a soft, low sound rent the air.

He was weeping, she realized, a sob rising in her own throat at the notion of this strong, gentle man, who earlier tonight had held his mother and sister-in-law as they cried out their own grief, now giving vent to his own feelings in his chamber alone. The notion nearly brought her to her knees for him, but rather than succumbing herself, she strode across the room, careful not to startle him.

She touched him gingerly on his back, and though he jumped a little, he did not immediately turn and order her from the room. Instead, he kept his back to her, and said, “Cecily, if you will forgive me, I should like to be alone tonight.”

“Would you?” she asked softly. “Would you really, or do you think to spare me witnessing you in your grief? For I can assure you, Your Grace, nothing you can say or do tonight will make me think less of you.”

He seemed to take in a deep breath. “Please,” he said, his voice strained. “Please just leave me in peace.”

“Lucas,” she said, “please don’t shut me out. I want to help.”

At this he turned, his eyes blazing. “You have the temerity to ask me not to shut you out? You who hold yourself at a distance even as we are joined in the most intimate way possible? You who refuse to give me one fraction of affection more than is absolutely necessary for fear that you’ll find yourself in love with the man who just so happens to be your husband? You will pardon me, madam, if I do not leap with joy at your kind offer. But I would just as soon endure my grief alone as share it with you only to have you draw back into your cocoon again in the morning.”

She was startled by the vehemence of his outburst, but the substance of what he said was nothing more than the truth. She had been keeping herself removed from him in an effort to protect her heart. But she could no more have left him alone tonight to grieve than she could have ignored an injured animal left for dead on the side of a carriageway. Like it or not, some inexorable force had drawn them together, and even as she listened to his angry words, she found herself moving closer to him.

“I am sorry,” she said simply, for it was what she felt, and it was the truth. She was sorry for having let him down. Sorry for having led him to believe they might have a real marriage, then pulling away from him night after night. And most of all she was sorry that he had lost his brother. “So sorry,” she said, wrapping her arms around him, offering him the comfort of her body even as he trembled against her.

“There will be no going back tonight, Cecily,” he said harshly. “If you stay with me tonight, then that is how we will continue to go on. No more retreating to your own chamber when you do not wish to discuss something. No more running away.”

She looked into his intense blue eyes, at the residual moisture that glittered in his lashes, and knew she had no choice. He had given her so much since their marriage and she was compelled tonight to return the favor.

“Yes,” she said, her decision making her bold. “I promise.”

He gave a brisk nod, and as he had done on their wedding night, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed. But unlike that night, there was no time for talk, only pleasure.

With a hunger born of grief, he took her mouth with a ferocious intent that left her breathless, lowering her to the bed and unfastening his breeches at the same time. Not even taking the time to remove her gown, he pulled her to the edge of the bed, and lifted the sheer fabric to her hips.

Cecily was overwhelmed by the strength of his ardor, and when he flipped her over so that her bottom and legs dangled over the side of the bed, she felt a jolt of fear along with the excitement that his mastery inspired.

“No going back,” he whispered into her ear as he covered her back with his body, curving his front into her back and gripping both of her hands together over her head with one hand while with his other he guided his erection to that part of her weeping for him to fill it.

With one sharp plunge he drove himself fully into her, the slide of their bodies together making both of them cry out in pleasure. Again and again, Lucas flexed his cock into the warmth of her, and again and again her body gripped his as he slid back out. He lost himself in the rhythm of their coupling, the drive to find his release making him forget anything but the bliss of feeling Cecily’s softness devouring his cock.

The noises she made, something between a moan and a sigh, only added to the intensity of his pleasure, and before long he felt himself nearing his peak. Thrusting once, twice, he reached a hand around and touched her just above where their bodies merged, and he was rewarded with a sharp cry from Cecily as she plummeted over, her pulsing center drawing him to his own fulfillment. Like a stallion covering a mare, he bit her lightly on the neck, his hands gripping her hips as he pistoned into her.

*   *   *

Much later, when Cecily was curved into the warmth of his body, both of them drowsy from spent passion, she asked, “Would you like to talk about him?”

She felt the sigh of weariness run through him. He was silent for some moments, while he traced circles on her back with his fingers.

“He was my younger brother,” he said simply. “I can still remember his baby voice, begging me to take him up with me on my pony. I must have been seven or so, and he was four. He was always begging me to take him along.”

Her heart aching for him, Cecily said nothing. Only held him.

“I loved him.” His voice was quiet now, as if saying the words aloud would somehow bring more pain. “And now he’s gone.”

She tried not to feel the guilt that lanced through her at his words. Though he had whispered words of love to her in the heat of passion, she still had not been able to say the same to him. Now, knowing how vulnerable he was, she wanted to assure him that she returned his affection, but part of her still held back. In part because she knew that giving him her heart might in some way bring her to the same sort of grief he endured now.

He buried his face in the curve of her shoulder. Cecily felt the wetness of tears against her skin.

“Why couldn’t I,” he whispered, his voice breaking a little, “just have let him ride that damned pony?”

Cecily turned and kissed him. Not a kiss of passion, but one of comfort. She hoped it was enough.

For now, it was all she had to give him.

*   *   *

The next week passed in a blur of activity, from the notification of Bow Street about how they suspected Will had died, to informing his mother and Will’s wife, to traveling to the Winterson estate in Kent for the funeral services and subsequent burial.

Since the night they’d found Will’s body, when he’d broken down and revealed the true extent of his grief to her, Lucas had returned to the polite but distant demeanor of the days leading up to their awful discovery. He rose before dawn to ride over the estate with his steward, and did not return home until nearly suppertime.

One morning, a week after William’s funeral, she looked up from a translation of Herodotus to find him watching her from the doorway of her private sitting room.

Dressed for the country in buckskin breeches and a loose-fitting coat, he was every inch the country gentleman. His leg had grown stronger since that first day outside the Egyptian Club and he walked with little trace of the limp that had kept him from waltzing with her at the Bewle ball. And he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

“I did not mean to disturb you,” he said, thrusting one hand into the pocket of his coat and looking just as ill at ease as she felt. “But I thought perhaps you’d like to see what I found in the barn.”

Her heart racing, she stood quickly, knocking her book to the floor in the process. “Oh, bother,” she cried, stooping to pick it up.

He stepped closer to help, but she was already crouched on the floor beside the desk when he reached her. When she looked up, she was at eye level with his coat pocket. Which, oddly, had begun to undulate.

“Good Lord!” she said, staring at his moving jacket. “What in the world have you got in there?”

This startled a laugh from her husband, which quickly turned into a cough.

“Don’t be lewd,” she said quickly, knowing from the gleam in his eye that the direction of his thoughts was decidedly improper.

“Oh, all right,” he huffed, though his grin dispelled any real pique.

Reaching into his pocket, he grasped hold of something inside and carefully drew it back out.

“Mew,” said the tiny ginger kitten blinking in the bright glare of the afternoon sun.

“Oh.” Cecily stared at the fuzzy little cat that barely fit in the palm of Lucas’s hand. “What a little darling.”

“I think its mother abandonded it,” Lucas said, sending a silent apology to the tabby mama cat and her brood from whom he’d appropriated this little fellow. “Thought maybe you might want to have him for a pet.”

She still hadn’t even touched the kitten, just stood staring at the tiny creature.

“If you don’t want him I might ask one of the tenants if he needs a mouser,” he said, suddenly uneasy. He had thought all women liked baby animals. Though he knew Cecily hadn’t reacted like all women with regard to anything else, so maybe he shouldn’t have presumed.

“Don’t you dare!” she said, grabbing him by the arm with such ferocity, he suspected she’d left a mark. “Don’t you dare give my kitten away!”

Lucas suppressed a smile at her words. “Then why don’t you pick him up?”

Cecily swallowed. “I … I’ve never had a pet,” she said. “I’m not sure what to do.”

Her expression was such a mix of awe and chagrin that he wanted to hold her. He had decided not long after they arrived in Kent that if his marriage was to have any chance at success, he would need to woo her with every bit as much finesse as he would have used had they not been compromised into marriage. Though there was no doubt that the hard shell Cecily customarily wore around her heart had grown weaker in the past weeks, she was still too intent upon self-preservation to let him in.

So now, remembering his plan to draw her to him in stages, he kept his hands to himself. Instead, showing her how to cup her hands, he carefully placed the mewling kitten into her keeping.

“Oh,” she said softly. “He’s so soft. And light.”

The look in her eyes was something Lucas would never forget as long as he lived. And he made a vow that he’d do whatever it took to make sure he put that look in them as often as possible.

After the look she made when he was buried inside her, of course.

Suddenly feeling like a lecherous brute for thinking about sex while his wife held a kitten, he cleared his throat. Which made the kitten jump.

“Oh, you’ve frightened him,” Cecily chided. “It’s all right, little one,” she crooned to the kitten.

Excellent, Lucas thought, they’ve joined forces against me.

“Lucas,” Cecily said quietly. “Thank you. No one has ever given me a better gift.”

Unable to speak around the lump in his throat, Lucas merely nodded.

They stood there looking down at the kitten for a few minutes before Cecily spoke again.

“If,” she began, “if you would like to come to my bedchamber this evening…”

They were the words he’d been desperate to hear for weeks now. And it took every ounce of resolve he had to keep from shouting his assent to the rooftops. Instead, he shook his head.

“I thank you, my dear,” he said carefully, not wanting to let on how much he hated to deny her, but utterly committed to telling her the truth, “but I’m afraid that I’ve discovered I want something more from you than just affection.”

He saw her wince at his use of the term she’d fobbed him off with before. He hadn’t meant to throw her words up in her face, but it was as good a name as any for the easy relationship they shared. It was only after the discovery of his brother’s body, when he’d realized just how fleeting their time together might be, that he had known exactly what it was he wanted from Cecily.

It wasn’t affection.

It wasn’t camaraderie.

“Love, Cecily,” he told her now. “I want your love. And until you are ready to give it to me, I won’t be coming to your bedchamber.”

He left her staring openmouthed after him, the kitten curled up in the cradle of her hands, blissfully unaware of the human drama unfolding around him.

*   *   *

In the days that followed, true to his word, Lucas stayed out of Cecily’s bedchamber. When he had made his declaration that day in the library, she had wanted nothing more than to give him exactly what he asked for. It would be so easy to let herself fall in love with him. She was already halfway there, she knew. But the memory of how much she had hurt when David left her kept her from succumbing. She had wanted nothing more than to offer him the sort of comfort that he himself had offered her from the beginning of their association with one another. And she knew that with very little coaxing on her part, she’d have been able to persuade him.

But instead, out of respect for his wishes, she had held herself back. Most days she didn’t see him until the dinner hour anyway, since he spent much of his time laboring over estate business, like repairs to the tenants’ cottages. And at night, they each retired to their separate beds. If she wished for someone more substantial to curl up with besides little Ginger? Well, she would endeavor to forget the passion she’d felt beneath her husband’s hands and would instead concentrate on figuring out who had killed Will Dalton.

Thus it was that she found herself standing on the steps of Winterhaven with her husband, Ginger curled up in his basket that was draped over her arm.

“I will send for you at once if I learn anything more about the cat,” she told him, both of them staring out at the parkland beyond, not daring to make eye contact. “The blue cat, I mean.”