The Other Duke (9 page)

He breathed a sigh of relief before he asked, “Then will you allow me to give you pleasure for these first weeks of our marriage? At least until your new home is purchased and ready, until the intense focus on our union goes away? Will you trust me to educate you, to satisfy you like I just did?”

She nodded slowly. “You have shown me nothing but kindness, Rafe, nothing but care and gentleness. And I trust you to continue to behave in such a way for a few weeks. I admit, I look forward to creating happy memories about being touched by a man.” She shifted and sat up, locking eyes with him in a way he hadn’t expected. “But the rest of our agreement must stand. I
don’t
want a marriage beyond one in name alone.”

“Of course. I will take nothing away from our original bargain. When your home is ready, we will part ways except for the occasional reunion for the sake of creating children.”

He said the words, he meant them, but somehow they felt rather unsatisfying as he stared at her, her face still flushed from pleasure, her body barely covered by her chemise.

He shook those thoughts away and reached out to cup her cheek. She leaned into his palm, still staring at him like she was trying to read his intentions, trying to read their future. He couldn’t help but wonder what conclusions she ultimately came to.

“Come, my servants should have done their duty since last night. I would wager your gowns await you in the dressing area of the adjoining room. Pick one and I will help you dress.”

She pulled away in surprise. “Dress? Why? I thought—?”

She glanced at the bed they sat on, and he realized with a start that she had believed they would stay here all day, with him beginning those oh-so-powerful lessons in desire.

His cock ached, but he managed to maintain the strength of his voice as he said, “There will be plenty of time for that, my dear. Right now I think we both need sustenance. Let’s go down and see what the best cook in London has prepared for us to share on this first full day of being man and wife.”

Serafina watched with a laugh as Rafe returned to the sideboard in the dining room and loaded his plate with a second helping of everything available to him. As he returned to his place at the head of the table beside her, he had a wide grin on his face that only made him more handsome than ever. And despite herself, her heart gave a terrifying little flutter.

She frowned. She didn’t want to have flutters about her husband. They had a marriage by contract, nothing more. She couldn’t forget that, even if his kindness, his acceptance, his pleasure-inducing touch muddled the issue.

Her body was just confused. It was the only explanation. Although she continued to stiffen, to flash to images of Cyril above her when Rafe touched her, those thoughts had already begun to fade at his gentle caress. She still tingled from his earlier intimate explorations and that made everything between them seem sharper, more focused, more intense. Once they had shared more of the pleasures he promised, certainly the wonder of the act would wear off.

“You look very serious at present,” he said between bites of food.

Her smile returned at his ravenous enjoyment of his breakfast. “And
you
look like a cat who got into the birdcage. Do you always eat so vigorously?”

“No,” he admitted with a broad grin. “I have been without the delightful Mrs. Lathem’s fantastic food since I moved into the ducal home two days ago. And before that, I haven’t exactly had much of an appetite. Now I cannot get enough.”

The good humor Serafina had felt faded at his statement about a lack of appetite. She had been so focused on her own troubles since Cyril’s death, she hadn’t put much thought into how Rafe must be feeling. After all, he had been dragged into a title
and
a marriage he didn’t want and had not expected.

“Is the food not to your liking?” he asked as he motioned to her half-full plate.

“Oh no, it’s all delicious. I was simply lost in thought.” She picked up her fork and speared a sausage slice.

As she popped it into her mouth, Rafe nodded. “Yes, I see you do that quite a bit. Lose yourself in thought.”

She shrugged. “I suppose I do from time to time. There have been heavy thoughts to have as of late, for both of us.”

“True. But I’ve never been much for stewing and worrying. That’s more my brother’s tactic than my own.”

She tilted her head at that statement. “You are lucky, then. Most people don’t have a choice in their worries.”

He wrinkled his brow. “Of course they do. Whatever will happen will come to pass whether I lose sleep about it or not. I do my best to prepare myself and behave in a way that will limit the troubles I encounter-”

She laughed despite the seriousness of the conversation. “That isn’t what I’ve heard.”

He grinned. “All right, I will admit that I often do not look before I leap, so perhaps I exaggerate. But what is the fun in life unless you hurtle off the cliff and see if you can fly? So often you will find you can do just that.”

“And when you cannot?” she asked.

He waved his arms. “What’s done is done. It is out of my purview.”

“But you must be burdened by your thoughts about
some
things,” she pressed, leaning closer to search his face. “You cannot
truly
be so separated from the pain reality can bring.”

His smile broadened. “Well, you know I have been utterly sheltered by my wealth, my handsome visage and my notorious reputation. Isn’t that what they say?”

She shook her head at his playful tone and leaned back in her chair. “A few of them, yes.”

His smile faded. “You think I’m being flippant.”

She hesitated. If she challenged him, would his acceptance and gentleness with her fade? She didn’t think so, but there was always a chance.

Still, she found herself saying, “Perhaps a tiny bit. Although I will admit that I envy how you can be so detached. It is not a trait we share.”

He shifted, and for a moment he seemed to be considering what he could say next. “Of course I worry from time to time,” he admitted slowly. “About my mother, my sister, even Crispin, though God knows the man can take care of himself.”

“You guard those you care for,” she said, still examining him. “It is a fine trait.”

“And now that guarding extends to you,” he said, taking a long drink of coffee.

“Of course it won’t. You protect those you care for and we already know that will not be me. It is part of our agreement that you will not entangle your feelings with me and I will certainly not tangle mine with you.”

He met her gaze firmly. “You do take delight in putting me in my place. You know there are women who would have done almost anything to marry me and then would have mooned all over me to get me to declare even my barest feeling for them.”

She arched her brow, sensing his teasing. The lightness of his mood was a happy change. She had been surrounded by darkness for so long that it almost felt like a lifeline to be with him.

“You would have bored of those kinds of women in a moment,” she teased back. “You need a challenge.”

“Probably true,” he acquiesced. “But regardless of that fact, you say I will not care for you, but that
isn’t
what I agreed to.”

Her heart stubbornly skipped again and she straightened up immediately. “What?”

“I would hope that over the years we will become…” He hesitated, as if searching for the right term. “That we will become very good friends.”

She stared. It was the second time he’d said that to her. That they would be friends. It was as odd a thought now as it had been before they wed. And especially strange considering that just over a week ago she had been pondering the virtues of fleeing into the brothels in order to escape a marriage to Cyril.

“I would like to be your friend,” she admitted softly. “I think, from what little I know you, you would be a good one to have.”

He shrugged. “I would try.”

“But, as your friend, I must ask you—are you not concerned in any way with performing your duties as duke?”

He seemed genuinely confused by the question. “What do you mean?”

She shook her head. “Men are trained at their father’s knee for decades to take on a role that you have been thrust into almost overnight. You will have Parliament to sit on, estates to manage properly, expectations about support for your tenants and others under your care. People will come to you with questions and assume you have the answers.”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment she saw a flash of anxiety in his eyes. Then he shoveled another bite of food into his mouth and grunted, “I’ll learn.”

She didn’t have a chance to respond before Lathem entered the room with a quiet clearing of his throat. Rafe nodded. “Yes, Lathem, what is it?”

The butler held out a tray with several envelopes stacked high. “These have come for you.”

Rafe stared. “What are they?”

“Invitations, of course,” Serafina said with a shake of her head. “Surely even a Society-avoiding scoundrel must recognize them.”

He laughed. “A Society-avoiding scoundrel. I think I shall have that engraved on my headstone. But yes, minx, I have received an invitation or two in my time. Just not…what are there, Lathem? Five?”

The butler didn’t even look down. “Eight, Your Grace.”

He winced. “Eight at once. Great God. Well, respond en masse with a resounding no, Lathem.”

Serafina’s eyes went wide at his immediate and very firm dismissal of the very duty they had just been discussing. “You cannot mean that.”

“But I do. I don’t want to go to some stuffy party where I’ll be
Your Graced
until my head aches. Lathem is Your Gracing me enough.”

She tossed the butler a look. “Will you bring me the invitations, Lathem?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The butler stepped inside and set the tray beside her, out of Rafe’s reach. “Is there anything else, my lady?”

Rafe glanced toward the sideboard with a forlorn expression. “Has your wife made any of her famous hash this morning?”

Lathem hesitated, and for a moment he went pale. “Well—”

Rafe must have sensed the same trouble that Serafina did, for he leaned closer. “What is it?”

“I would have mentioned it to you later, sir, but you see…there was an incident in the kitchen just before we brought the breakfast items out for serving.”

“An incident?” Serafina asked, watching the butler wring his hands.

“A—a fire,” Lathem clarified.

Rafe jumped to his feet. “A fire!”

“Yes.” Lathem took a step closer. “It was small, but it started in a kitchen storage area that is rarely used and we were very fortunate that a footman, Feddington, noticed it before it got out of hand.”

Serafina raised a hand to her chest to cover her pounding heart. “Lucky indeed.”

“Was anyone injured?” Rafe asked.

Serafina looked at him with a smile. Of course he would be concerned for those in his employ. He was truly nothing like his cousin.

“Thankfully, no,” the butler said. “And the breezes through the kitchen windows seemed to draw most of the smoke outside, which is why the smell didn’t reach the rest of the house. But obviously this interrupted the preparations. Mrs. Lathem said to tell you that the hash will be on the menu tomorrow.”

Rafe waved a hand to dismiss that statement. “Great God, tell her that is the least of my worries. And please let her know that I will come down later today to assess the damage and clear funds for any clean-up or repair.”

Lathem nodded. “Very good. Is there anything else I can do for either of you?”

“No,” Rafe said with a reassuring smile.

After the servant had gone, Serafina shuddered. “How terrifying.”

“Yes,” he said, sinking back into his chair with a grim expression. “A fire could have roared out of control swiftly and endangered many. We are truly lucky.”

Serafina glanced toward the dining room door that Lathem had departed from. “Lathem seems a good sort.”

Rafe grinned. “He is. Although I was so distracted by his news of the fire that I only just realized he followed
your
order about the invitations rather than my own. Cheeky bastard.”

“I think that proves what a discerning fellow he is. He knows when a person is being unreasonable.”

Rafe shook his head. “How am I being unreasonable?”

“Refusing eight invitations would be unreasonable,” she said with a sigh.

“Oh, Sera,” he groaned.

She reached out to cover his hand with hers. “A moment ago you said you would learn how to be a duke, yes? Well, allow me to teach you.”

“You?” he repeated, staring at her hand over his, then back up to her face.

She slid away, heat rushing to her cheeks, and nodded. “Yes. I was taught the intricacies of being a duchess for years while I awaited my marriage to your cousin. Who better to teach you than I?”

He pondered that for a moment. “I suppose that is true. But you are not obligated—”

“It is not an obligation. I would simply like to help,” she said softly. “You could have made these past few days a trial, but you didn’t. Besides, if you have altered our bargain to include a tutelage in pleasure, why should I not alter it equally?”

“Tit for tat?” he said, his voice suddenly tense.

She shook her head. It seemed she wasn’t explaining herself well enough. “No. Please, may I help you?”

Slowly, he nodded. “Very well. And your first lesson is that I cannot refuse invitations.”

She laughed. “No, my first lesson is that there are
certain people
you cannot turn down.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “Could I not be eccentric?”

“Not if you want to survive, Rafe.”

He pursed his lips and waved toward the pile of invitations. “I will accept two.”

“Three at least,” she corrected. “That will be enough to make it clear you are not shunning the Upper Ten Thousand, but not so many as to appear desperate to be accepted.”